


A Promise Not Forsaken

by CelenaCallaghan



Series: Izzy's Adventures in Azeroth [1]
Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft (Comics), World of Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood, Cussing, Depression, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Horde Champion - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I reject your canon and substitute my own, Language, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Priestess as Champion, Romance, Sex Work, Suspense, Violence, Weapons, lotsa gay, sex positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 108,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelenaCallaghan/pseuds/CelenaCallaghan
Summary: Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *COMPLETE*
Relationships: Blood Elf | Elves/Undead (Warcraft), Elf | Elves/ & Other(s), Sylvanas Windrunner/Original Character(s), Varian Wrynn/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Izzy's Adventures in Azeroth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896907
Comments: 56
Kudos: 91





	1. Is This Home?

**Year 24 - Four Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

Izzy stared at the High Executor with her arms crossed over her chest, fingers digging into her biceps. Mavren’s brains had to be rotting with the rest of his body. He cocked the arch of his right eye socket, the Forsaken equivalent of raising a brow. His Deadlights studied her with detached amusement as he ran a thumb over the sparkling blue gem in the necklace that caused all her trouble.

“Not a fucking chance.”

“I wasn’t giving you an option, priestess.”

“You’re the highest-ranking Forsaken in this area. You take it.”

“And as the High Executor, I’m pulling rank.” He dangled the necklace in front of her. “Unless you’d rather me charge you for stealing the Dark Lady’s property?”

Snarling, Izzy snatched the bauble and wrapped it in one of her handkerchiefs. “You’re an ass.”

He cackled and waved her off. “Dark Lady watch over you.”

The statement brought up a surge of emotions she refused to name. Izzy tucked the necklace away and decided to ride for Silvermoon. It would give her time to think. She hadn’t expected to find herself in southern Eversong, renamed the Ghostlands after Arthas and his Scourge tore through it, but after four years of healing and cleaning up Silvermoon City, she needed quiet. Peace. Something. After passing her family’s former home near the Elrendar River, she entered the dark, grey land that once held so much beauty.

So many memories.

She rode for miles as ghosts of the past and angry spirits attacked her on all sides. Of course it resulted in more scorch marks and shattered ruins but it was satisfying all the same to let off steam. But it didn’t sate that ache inside her. The disconnection that came when she looked around Quel’thalas. It wasn’t home anymore. Everything she ever knew or believed about herself had been destroyed by the Scourge invasion and she’d thrown herself into her work to try and find that connection. It had yet to take.

Izzy slung herself sidesaddle onto her hawkstrider and studied the necklace that lay in her gloved hand. Cleansing Windrunner Village where minn’da and her healing trainees stopped during their monthly rounds had been a snap decision. Something she hoped would clear the cobwebs and shine a light on what she was meant to do next. The necklace dropping from one of the accursed cultists that took over the spire seemed an omen. Until she read the inscription on the back and her stomach dropped to her knees. Her hand shook until she wrapped both hands around the necklace and squeezed.

How could she face her? Where Lady Sylvanas Windrunner fought and died for Quel’thalas, she healed and survived. Safe. Tucked in the back lines by orders of the high priest. Granted, her small group of rangers and healers saved many lives by smuggling them to a small island off the coast of Quel’thalas. They lost people as they made their way further and further back into the city, dodging Scourge and blowing away walls to escape but they made it. She was counted lucky by other survivors. She’d never seen Arthas. Only the devastation left in his wake on the faces of those left behind.

She should have saved more.

Done more.

Should have been stronger, braver. Like Lady Sylvanas. Like minn’da.

And now she was on her way to face one of the women she admired all her life. A woman who had sacrificed so much that Izzy’s losses paled in comparison. She licked her lips, almost tasting the sticky honey cakes and rich wine they’d shared between them one market day. Izzy worked so hard to make that cake...she shook her head. No matter her own failings, she could at least return something lost.

Izzy guided her hawkstrider past Shepherd’s Gate and entered the city. The ride passed in a blur of old and new sights, fresh stone and paint covering up dried bloodstains and broken mortar. Emissaries of the other Horde races strolled by and she thanked the Titans Sethy had quick feet. Still got a glare for nearly running them over though. A brief stumble through the teleportation orb and she made her way into the depths of the Undercity. The damp, heavy air left a grimy haze over her robes and sweat beaded around her hairline. Even with her mane of curls pinned up and the stone of the city to keep things cool, the canals still emitted a blight-like condensation.

“What business brings the living here?” One of the Deathstalkers approached her, his hand on his sword. He snorted. “One who stinks of the Light.”

Izzy made a dramatic sniffing motion of her arm. “And here I thought the stench of fel would cover that up.”

He huffed. It could have been a laugh but it was just as likely to be irritation. “State your purpose and be quick about it.”

A bit of her bravado faded and she cleared her throat. “I’m running an errand for High Executor Mavren in Tranquillien.” She braced herself for the refusal. “Where may I find the Banshee Queen?”

Silence. Yellow Deadlights narrowed and the tips of his gauntlets pinged against the hilt of his sword. Izzy refused to fidget but Sethy cawed softly and his wings fluttered. She rested a hand against his neck and smoothed his feathers. Of course the damn bird would pick up on her unease.

“The Royal Quarters off the Apothecarium. Look for the Dark Rangers.”

“Thank you.”

Relief flooded her and she snapped the reins. Sathrin trotted over to the innkeeper and she activated the stone that summoned and dismissed her mount. He vanished in a puff of smoke and an indignant squawk. If she was going to go through with her visit it wouldn’t kill her to be polite. Riding over railless stone bridges while citizens and other adventurers went about their business wasn’t a good way to make a second impression. First impression? She batted her errant thoughts away and descended into the city proper.

After briefly getting turned around in the circular layout, Izzy eventually found the Dark Rangers.

“Halt,” the woman on the right ordered. “State your business.”

“I’m here on an errand for High Executor Mavren. Something to be delivered directly to the Banshee Queen’s hands.”

They made her wait too but eventually let her pass. Her heart pounded as she flexed and released her hands in her robe. When she reached the throne room, her eyes were immediately drawn up. Up the stairs to a dais, following the lines of the throne to the long banners bearing the Forsaken sigil. She swallowed. The dark stone room was lit only by a few torches and shadows rippled over the enormous, muscled Dreadlord on the left side of the throne. On the right stood a Forsaken man carrying a bow and quiver of arrows. She struggled for a name. Nathanial? No, Nathanos. Once he was made a part of the Farstriders, he rarely left Sylvanas’s side. Their banter had been the cause of more than one spilled bowl of cake batter at her aunt’s market stall over the years.

She breathed in. Out. Slow and steady. She just had to get it over with. Give the necklace to Nathanos. Or even the Dreadlord. There was no reason for her to -

“Another adventurer,” the demon drawled.

Fuck.

“You stink of the Light,” he added.

Izzy rolled her eyes and her mouth took over. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Shall I go bathe in the canal so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities? Anar'alah belore, you’d think a demon would be made of tougher stuff.”

His growl had her snapping her mouth shut. The flare of annoyance that fueled her attitude was smothered under his ferocious glare. A glare that added teeth when a few snickers came from other adventurers. Clearing her throat and reminding herself not to offend everyone in the room, Izzy approached the dais.

“I’m here to speak with the Banshee Queen.”

“The Dark Lady has better things to do than deal with - ”

“You dare to speak for your queen, Varimathras?”

Unbidden, a chill shot down Izzy’s spine. Even in undeath, her voice carried the same silk and venom quality that disciplined new recruits, terrified enemies, and ignited forbidden fantasies. The new, echoing resonance only made her more intimidating. More unearthly. The click of a boot heel on stone jerked Izzy back to the present. All talk ceased. There was only Sylvanas Windrunner as she rose from her throne and stared down her nose at Izzy. A lazy draft brushed the back of her neck and brought the scent of dried roses. She squeezed her fingers together and breathed in the faded, but familiar aroma. A bit of calm returned and the tension in her shoulders eased.

“Come forward. I trust you won’t waste my time.”

A weak laugh escaped her. “Shame I didn’t bring honey cake to make the time go by then.” She gasped and covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean - I, uh, I’m here on an errand.”

As she fumbled for the necklace, piercing red eyes skimmed over her. “Do I know you?”

Izzy’s hands stilled and she swallowed her disappointment. “I was out riding and found something that belongs to you.”

With careful movements, she untied the handkerchief and folded the fabric back. The gem caught the torchlight and a ripple of fire flashed on its surface. Sylvanas stepped down, bringing the scent of dried roses closer. Fingers encased in archer’s gloves brushed her palm as she took the trinket. Izzy bit her lip hard to keep her mouth under control but she couldn’t hide the tremble that shot through her. The touch had been so careful. Delicate, almost, but cold. A reminder of what she had become.

“After all this time...I thought it lost forever.” Her voice softened but her eyes didn’t as they stared her down. “Much like you, Isoldera.”

Shame warred with hope and excitement. She remembered. It was something. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. So much happened - ” Izzy cut herself off and took a breath. “But I’m glad to see you again.”

Sylvanas said nothing. Shadows gathered under her hood and her eyes burned bright and red. Something shifted. Izzy tensed. Sylvanas’ fingers curled around the jewel and tightened until her leather gloves creaked in protest.

“You thought this would amuse me?”

“What?” Thrown, Izzy took a step back. “No. No, I thought - ”

“Do you think you can waltz into my throne room as though the past never happened?” Her tone turned derisive. “That we would share wine and cake when food turns to ash in my mouth? When wine won’t warm my veins?”

The Windrunner sisters never missed their mark and Sylvanas’ words pierced Izzy to the core. One of the last links she had to her past shattered in the wake of reality. She was a fool. A fool still clinging to memories. Desperate for something, anything, in her new world to make sense. Yes, Sylvanas remembered her and the times they shared. But it didn’t matter. She bowed her head in defeat.

“Alleria Windrunner is a long dead memory. This - gaudy trinket - means nothing to me.” The necklace dropped, pinging softly against the stone. “Just like you.” Armor rustled and jangled as she turned away. “You may remove yourself from my presence, _priestess._ ”

With that dismissal, Sylvanas returned to her throne and engaged Varimathras in conversation about recent supply trains. The Dreadlord shot her a smug smirk before turning his attention to his queen. Numbness sank into her limbs as she pulled herself back and away. She glanced down at the necklace. A memory. That’s all she was. A memory to be discarded and forgotten. Izzy pulled her cloak’s hood over her hair and fled.

She stumbled her way out of the Undercity and back to the courtyard as a haunting voice filled the halls. Recognizing it for Sylvanas, Izzy hesitated before she touched the orb. It wasn’t her place to stay. The next thing she knew, she was back in her sparse quarters inside the temple cloisters. Though the Light had abandoned her years ago, they still kept rooms for the healers who had survived the invasion. A bed. A desk and chair. A chest for her clothes and supplies. Meaningless objects. Maybe she should have taken a page from Sylvanas’ book and discarded them. Throw them away like the past.

Izzy drummed her fingers on her desk. The remnants of a tailoring project lay scattered over the top. Pins. Needles dangling on thread. Her scissors set aside. Torn up sketches and an abandoned measuring tape. She pulled the pieces of the sketch together and scoffed a laugh. It was for a pattern she intended to sell to cloth wearers who wanted more maneuverability in their robes but didn’t work. What had she been thinking? Trying to force it and wing it only made her more frustrated and she’d thrown aside the project to go riding. Which led her to Tranquillien. She traced her finger over the design. She could chalk it up to another failure and move on. Or she could transform it.

Inspiration struck and Izzy scrambled for her paper and charcoal sticks. Time passed. Her fingers ached. The lamps lit up outside. Her stomach growled and her craving for magic screamed at her. But she didn’t stop until the moons rose to their peaks and the gold-trimmed robe lay complete on her desk. Weak from hunger but elated at her success, Izzy huffed. Giggled. Then started laughing. Like the robe, her life had been altered once. It could change again. Better, she could change it. No more drifting through the world, through her life, letting things happen to her.

“Kalimdor,” she breathed. “I could go to Kalimdor.”

The arenas in Orgrimmar constantly needed new healers. She’d find work and a weapon trainer. Someone to dust off and refine the skills minn’da taught her. Plans bubbled as she flew about the small space, gathering all the gold she had and setting aside things to sell for more. She stripped off her acolyte’s robe for the last time and threw it on the bed. With reverent hands, she slid into the perfectly fitted, enchanted robe and belted it at the waist. Her finest work and a symbol of her new beginning.

No more would she live among ghosts.

Izzy made a promise to herself. She’d prove once and for all that she was an Ambershield and worthy of her name.

No matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for stopping by my little corner of Azeroth to begin Izzy's journey. A few notes:
> 
> -This fic will update every Wednesday. I currently have two arcs planned in full: one for Classic/BC and one for WotLK. Anything beyond that is still up in the air.
> 
> -I love music and this fic has been inspired by a lot of songs so I made a playlist! It can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3jlH2xpJOlKbjG57QsmAGz?si=NGo4b2DMQu6GXlQdUc0mAQ
> 
> See you guys next week!


	2. Keep on Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’thalas**

A felguard’s armpit had to be cooler than Orgrimmar. A month in Kalimdor and Izzy still hadn’t adjusted to the dry desert heat. It was a bit better in the infirmary, seeing as it was partially underground with vents and spells, but every time Izzy stepped outside, she melted. When she first crossed the Great Sea after selling almost everything she owned, she was hopeful. Positive. She had a goal and a plan. Getting work in the arena ended up being a snap. Working with her “superior”? Another story entirely.

Archibald Bancroft, a Forsaken priest, ran a tight ship and had no appreciation for “smart-mouthed brats with something to prove.”

“Wench,” he snapped from over his bubbling cauldron. “Are you going to make yourself useful or sit in the corner and sulk?”

Such a charmer.

“I’m not sulking, I’m melting.” She fanned herself as best she could around her face and neck. “How are you so chipper in this heat?”

He scoffed and stirred. “Dry heat preserves what little flesh I have left. Keeps the rot from setting in.”

She opened her mouth. The glare he shot her would have frightened giants so she snapped it closed again and went back to her fanning. Archie had a sense of humor. Somewhere. Otherwise she wouldn’t still be there.

“May stop your flesh from rotting but I can’t say the same for your funny bone,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

He grunted but Izzy swore he smirked. Progress. She giggled and tried to focus on her sketch. The robe she crafted before leaving Silvermoon turned out better than she hoped and brought in a trickle of income from selling the pattern. But it wasn’t enough. She needed savings. Better gear. Which meant she needed to come up with something new. Plus, if what she ended up crafting was better, she could replace her own robe first. The challenge had her fingers itching to create and for once the infirmary was quiet.

Until the doors crashed open.

“Help! Someone help!”

Izzy shot to her feet, sketchbook forgotten, and rushed to scrub up. Archie barked orders to the trio that stumbled in and pointed to a table. Her stomach swooped. Valeera and Broll carried their friend and teammate between them, all three smeared with blood. Izzy’s eyes raked over them as she tied on a smock.

“Fetch potions and a monitoring crystal.”

She darted between different cupboards and gathered up the needed supplies. Archie snapped questions at the pair as they laid their friend on the padded examination table. She returned as Archie hissed.

Blood soaked bandages covered a deep gash in the human’s stomach.

“Who did this?” Archie’s hands glowed with power, the barest scowl on his face. “Cut the bandages, wench.”

The old priest hadn’t given up his calling even if the Light had forsaken him when he became undead. “Fickle bitch” was his favorite term for the entity that supposedly stood for healing and order. Izzy laughed until she cried the first time she heard it. She cut the bandages and peeled them back, sponging off dried blood with warm water mixed with her healing soap. The smells of old blood, dirt, and bile created a bouquet that called up one too many memories for Izzy. She didn’t even gag anymore.

“Gen’kar’s team,” Broll spat. “The bastard had a new addition. An ogre, ‘fresh from Dire Maul,’ to challenge Lo’Gosh.”

“Like ogres need a reason to kill him,” Valeera snarled, fel green eyes flashing.

“Make yourself useful and check them over.” He jerked his head at the pair. “I need to concentrate.”

Izzy guided Broll and Valeera to “her” area where she sat them down and peeled off their outer clothes. As she worked, she called on her magic and scanned them for injuries. Broll wasn’t too bad off. A few cuts and bruises she could wash and bandage. But Valeera’s right shoulder was dislocated and she had deep bruising on some of her organs. Izzy told Broll to brace her and she popped the shoulder back in the old fashioned way. Valeera bit back a scream but swore in three different languages.

Izzy took notes.

“You couldn’t have given me something for the pain?” Valeera snarled. “Or numbed it first?”

“Sure, if you want to build your immunity to healing magic.” She applied a cream for the pain and wrapped up her arm. “Which wouldn’t be the best idea considering how often you’re here.”

Valeera sighed but didn’t argue. Healing magic was tricky that way. Like certain medicines, a person could build an immunity with time, so she tended to the rogue’s arm without magic but used her power to heal the organ bruising. Knowing gladiator life as she did, Rehgar would want his team back in immediate fighting condition. Confident Valeera was stable for the moment, she turned her attention to Broll, noting which cuts looked the worst. She had a sponge in hand when Archie swore.

“Whoever trained that ogre deserves the plague.” His hands shook over the human’s stomach. “The wound’s poisoned.”

Izzy froze. Valeera and Broll’s voices washed over her like so much noise, her focus on the old Forsaken. His deadlights, and his magic, dimmed. Strong as he was, the pain of wielding the Light wore him down fast and he spent most of his strength keeping Lo’Gosh from death. The monitoring crystal shone red-black. Still a chance. More red specks lit up but it was slow. Too slow. Izzy chewed her lip. Archie tolerated her, might even like her, but she planned to step all over his position as lead healer. But between Archie’s pride and their patient’s life, it was no choice at all.

Moving fast, Izzy grabbed several rejuvenation potions and vials of anti-venom. She placed them near Archie’s elbow before crossing over and facing him across the table.

“I’ll take over Archibald.”

He snorted. “Like fel you will. This wound’s beyond you and I don’t fancy the taste of tainted meat.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Something in her tone got through because he didn’t argue. She touched his hand. “I can do this.”

His eyes narrowed. Izzy gathered her power, commanding the Light to bend to her will. Finally, he nodded. Izzy drew strands of power from the core of her magic and dove into the healer’s trance.

Time held no meaning. She ignored any signals from her own body. Her world became her patient and his wounds. When she found the venom, coiling like a snake through his blood, she used her most delicate touch to change the strands into a chain of healing fire to burn it away. More strands wove into a net to keep the bile from his punctured bowel contained. Even more worked on healing the infection and the puncture itself. The fire of the Light burned out infection while the strands knitted everything together. Whenever her power faltered, she demanded more. For abandoning her and her people, it could do no less.

Someone pressed something against her lips. Fizzy, viscous fluid that tasted of strawberries and mint trickled down her throat. She swallowed on reflex and strength surged through her. She kept going. Infection and poison surged against her magic. Spreading her power further revealed more damage to his organs. She swore and reached deeper, shoving away the thunder in her ears. When sweat got in her eyes, a cold, gentle hand that smelled of decaying leaves patted it away. The crystal grew redder. Some black remained but it continued to recede as she worked. Light be damned, she was an Ambershield. A healer. She vowed to be worthy of her name and she would not lose him.

“...zy…”

She blinked. More power joined hers. The Light multiplied and grew. Finally, finally, the last of the black specks faded away and orange started to peek through. Lo’Gosh no longer hovered near death.

“Izzy.”

Someone called her in a grouchy, familiar voice. Archie. She blinked and rose from her healing trance.

Her senses rushed in and she hit her knees as her legs gave out. Her ears rang and her heart pounded, the thundering she heard earlier and pushed away. Sweat drenched her from head to chest and she drank in deep gulps of air. Standing proved impossible, her limbs little more than bags of meat. Throbbing, tingling pain shot through her wrists and she groaned, slumping against the table leg.

“Ow,” she drew the syllable out in a childish whine. “What the fel happened?”

“You stayed in your trance for five hours, idiot girl,” Archie snapped. “I’d flay you for that but I think you’ve punished yourself enough.”

“Can’t flay me, I’d make a mess for you to clean up.” She groaned, vision swimming, and closed her eyes. “How is - ?”

“Your patient is stable.” His tone shifted to one of grudging respect. “You did well.” Then snapped back to his usual venom. “Now get your fleshy ass to bed and let a professional clean up your mess.”

Izzy gasped in mock outrage. “Did you just call me fat, you clattering corpse? Valeera,” she whined as Broll knelt to help her up. “He called me fat.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Broll chided but his voice was gentle.

“No, you are. I’m not fat, I’m curvy. And fucking pretty. Valeera, tell me I’m pretty,” she demanded.

Amusement oozed from the rogue as she spoke. “Were you fully rested and recovered, I would give you the ride of your life.”

“Cause I’m pretty?”

Valeera snorted. “Of course.”

“Ha!” Izzy cheered as Broll plopped her onto her cot. “Hear that Archie? I’m fucking pretty. Not fat.”

Furious Gutterspeak drifted back to her room. “Will you kindly pass out already? I’m getting a headache.”

She saluted him and flopped back onto her pillows. As sweet darkness stole over her, she swore someone whispered “thank you” in her ear.

Grouchy rumbles and arguing woke her after dark, along with a louder voice that grated on her last nerve. In no mood, Izzy pulled her biggest knife from under her pillow and lurched to the door. A well dressed orc stood over her patient, arguing with Archie, who sat slumped in a chair. His deadlights were still dim and his head bowed from exhaustion. Valeera and Broll stood close to Lo’Gosh, stances tense. Valeera reached for a blade she didn’t have while Broll growled, puffed up, and did his best impression of a bear.

“The fuck’s going on?” she rasped and directed her ire at Rehgar. “What are you doing around my patient?”

“Your patient?” he snorted. “I’ve come to collect my champion.”

“Like fel you are.” Izzy staggered over, irritation at her rude awakening fueling her attitude. She checked the crystal. Clear, dark orange. Satisfied nothing happened, she faced the fancy orc. “I don’t care how much money you have. You’re messing with my patient and with Archibald indisposed, I’m the bitch in charge.”

With every word, she crowded Rehgar, letting her magic crackle over her skin and spark in her eyes as she backed him towards the door. A healer never backed down when something threatened her patient. Minn’da always said it didn’t matter who or what tried to interfere, she had a duty to protect those who trusted her with their lives. Moreover, he was one orc. After the horrors of the Scourge invasion, one orc didn’t scare her. She stopped when they reached the threshold.

“If you want your precious champion to set foot in the arena again, get the fuck out of my infirmary.” She slammed the door in his face. “Asshole.” Her eyes rose and she found all three of them staring at her. Izzy’s face burned. “What?”

Broll snorted. Snickered. Then dissolved into belly laughs until he had to brace his hands on his knees to keep upright. Valeera shook her head but her shoulders quivered with silent laughter. Archie groaned and covered his face with his hand. Izzy huffed and muttered curses in Thalassian until Valeera snorted. She stuck her tongue out at Valeera, who smirked back and winked.

“Since you’re up, you get the next shift. I’ll be in the back.” Archie stretched until his joints popped and cracked.

He shuffled off to his quarters. Izzy took the chance to usher Valeera and Broll to cots and check their wounds. Satisfied they were clean and healing as they should, she made sure they were tucked in and comfortable before checking on Lo’Gosh. Spots of yellow started to appear in the crystal. Better but not ideal. She glided her palm down his torso, hovering an inch above his skin, to the wound. The bandages weren’t stained but the wrap job was loose and crooked. Archie’s arthritis flaring again. She reached for more bandages when a callused, dry hand closed over her wrist.

Sharp blue eyes bore into hers like a wolf with its leg in a trap.

“Welcome back.” She kept her voice low and calm as though nothing was out of the ordinary. “You’re in the infirmary under the Orgrimmar arena. Do you remember how you got here?”

His hand shook. His fingers tightened then relaxed. Izzy almost flinched from the brief pain but stopped herself. She had to stay calm until he oriented himself, not show weakness, or look like a threat. Long moments passed before his grip slackened enough for her to reach over and get the bandages. His body radiated heat and she checked him for fever but found none. Small relief.

“I’m going to wash and re-bandage your wound. Don’t go anywhere,” she teased and turned to gather her supplies.

The desert nights grew cold, doubly so for the infirmary, and while it was welcome after the day’s heat, she had patients to think of. So she made sure to grab one of the better blankets from the cupboard and draped it over his hips. He tensed when she moved closer and didn’t relax until she stopped touching him. Someone traded the torn leggings he wore for a clean towel but it did little to protect his privacy. Once she had a better idea of his condition, she’d find him something to wear.

She brought out her scissors to cut the bandages. He tensed again and tried to move. A soft, growling groan escaped his clenched teeth.

“Look at me. Look at me, Lo’Gosh,” she coaxed. When he did, she smiled. “All I’m going to do is take these scissors, cut your bandages, clean up your wound, then put fresh bandages on you. You’re my patient. I’d never hurt you.”

She longed to touch his hair or squeeze his shoulder. Something. But she didn’t. If he tensed just from her being close, she didn’t want to push him and ruin his healing progress by distressing him. With sure motions, she tended his wound, humming softly as she worked. Her voice wouldn’t win any contests but she could carry a decent tune and she knew the song by heart. Once she checked the stitches and cleaned and dried the wound, she cut strips of bandages to adhere to his stomach instead of trying to lift him.

“Were you the one who chased Rehgar out?” he croaked.

Izzy got him a cup of water with a thin, hollow reed to help him drink. “I am.” She paused. “I need to support your head. Is that alright?”

He nodded. Carefully, she cradled the back of his head, marveling at how soft his dark brown hair was. He took a few swallows before sighing. She eased him back and brushed his bangs out of his eyes before she could stop herself.

“Sorry.” She set the cup aside.

He waved it off. “My thanks. The bastard loves to hear himself talk.”

Izzy chuckled and went back to covering his stomach. “An ass of an orc if I’ve ever met one. He deserves a thrashing.”

A corner of his mouth quirked. “And you’re going to give it to him?”

“If a big, strong man like you doesn’t mind a woman protecting him.” His silence startled her until she recalled rumors about him. “I’m sorry. Has there been any progress in retrieving your memories?”

He shook his head. When he didn’t speak further, Izzy let it rest. Once he was clean, she cast a few small spells to boost his natural healing, checked his temperature, and cleaned up her work space. His eyes drooped. She pulled the blanket up from his hips and spread it over his chest. Blue eyes sharpened on her again.

“Too warm?” He shook his head. “Get some rest then, Lo’Gosh. If you’re good, I’ll sing you a lullaby,” she teased.

A soft sound of mirth escaped his full lips. “Haven’t I suffered enough? I thought healers took oaths not to harm their patients.”

Her mouth fell open. Closed. Incoherent stutters and half-started sentences tried to come up with a comeback but failed. She sighed in defeat and giggled. Musing on how rare it was to be bested, Izzy found a spare pair of trousers, fetched her sewing things, and settled into a comfortable chair next to a light globe. She tapped the glass shell. The enchantments lit up the crystals inside and filled her space with a soft glow.

“Is that too bright?”

A negative grunt. Something felt off though. He wasn’t relaxing. The yellow in the monitoring crystal darkened. Realization struck after a moment of thought and she moved her table and chair into his line of sight. He shifted and sighed softly. With a nod, Izzy pinned some extra fabric in place, threaded her needle, and started to sew. She hummed softly as she pushed the needle between the fabrics, mending tears, and checking seams. Soon she settled into the familiar rhythm and relaxed in her chair.

“I still don’t know your name.”

She started and jabbed the needle into her thumb. Thankfully it pinged off her thimble instead of sinking into her cuticle. His unasked question lingered and she murmured soft agreement. He turned his head to face her, dark bangs falling across his brow. She glanced up but couldn’t meet his stare for long.

“You elves have long, fancy names. What’s yours?”

“Names don’t come cheap,” she quipped then paused, eyes on her sewing. “And I’m trying to live up to mine. Not quite there yet. For now, I’m just Izzy.” Talk of names reminded her. “I like your new name, though. It suits you.”

“I earned it through my blood. My skill.” The weight of his gaze continued to press on her. “I want to earn yours.”

Her heart stuttered and she jabbed the thimble again. His soft, determined words reached right into her heart and squeezed.

“It feels wrong to not know the name of the woman who saved my life,” he persisted.

She smiled. Flirting. Harmless fun. She could indulge in that for one night. Even if he won his freedom, she would never see him again. He was a human. He’d return to the Alliance and whatever past life he built there. She belonged with the Horde. There was no future for them, even if she wasn’t trying to become worthy of her family name. To lighten the heaviness in her chest, she turned things around.

“Let’s play a game, Lo’Gosh,” she offered and snipped her thread. “If you guess my first name before sunrise, I’ll give you my family name and a kiss.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face before he smirked, confident once more. “Deal.”

“Deal. What’s your first guess?”

“Isabelle.”

She laughed. “Too obvious. Next.”

And so it went. He guessed anything, even going into the absurd, until she had to smother her giggles or risk disturbing Broll and Valeera. During quiet moments, he napped but never more than an hour. He woke sweating, reaching for a sword, or trying to escape some unseen foe. Each time he did, Izzy was there to soothe him and remind him of their game. She’d coax him back to a place of safety and he would nod off again. The pattern continued until he let himself drift and didn’t wake after an hour. Izzy finished his trousers and mended two blankets before she succumbed to sleep and didn’t wake until sunlight streamed through the vent slats near the ceiling.

Their time was up.

Worse, Rehgar pounded on the infirmary door demanding entry. Izzy struggled to untangle herself from her sewing as Archie shuffled out of his room. He answered the enraged demands and the orc stormed in with two guards, another orc and a tauren, both with enormous muscles and armed with swords and axes. She didn’t draw her laughably small knife but she stood at the foot of Lo’Gosh’s cot, arm stretched out over him.

“I’m not releasing him until I’m sure you won’t fuck up my work.”

“I’ve had enough of your attitude, bitch.” Rehgar snapped his fingers. “Take him.”

“No!” Izzy planted herself in front of the guards. “He needs more time. He has a fucking gut wound, his muscles - ”

“That’s enough.” Archie appeared at her elbow, expression grim. “He’s Rehgar’s slave, girlie. It’s his right to take him.”

“He’s my patient. We’re healers, Archie. We made vows.” A hand closed over her wrist and she whirled back. “Lo’Gosh?”

Unlike hours before, his touch was gentle. He stared ahead, eyes dark and jaw set. Numbness stole over the nausea building in her. All of the progress she thought she made in the past month dissolved. Putting Rehgar in his place was one thing. Facing down two large, heavily armed and expertly trained guards was another. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. She couldn’t protect him. What good was she as a healer? As an Ambershield? Her hand shook and she bowed her head, her thick curls hiding her shame.

“Don’t do this. I promised - ”

“And I release you.”

It went against everything she wanted to be. But it was his decision. She had to respect that, even if it hurt. She clenched her jaw and shot Rehgar and his guards a look she prayed made them shit their pants. Of course it went unanswered. Focusing on what she could do, she wrapped her hand around his and sent more healing magic in him. Enough to get him on his feet. She made sure to leave the potions nearby unguarded. If Valeera swiped a few, she wouldn’t say anything.

“One last guess, Ghost Wolf,” she whispered.

He sat up, their hands still twined and shining with the Light’s power. Bracing himself on the table, he pushed himself to face her. She stepped back to give him space and his eyes roamed over her from head to toe before meeting hers again.

“Isadora?”

She stiffened. Close. So very close. She shook her head and swallowed the urge to cry. Stupid to get emotional. He was one patient. A patient she’d never see again. Just a memory to be forgotten. Like before. Something brushed her cheek and her stomach swooped in surprise when his fingers withdrew.

“Your name. Please.”

In her time in the arena she saw so much death. Mutilation. Lost limbs, blood, and gore that sent other healers running. Not once had something broken her heart like that quiet plea. She squeezed his hand and murmured a blessing before she stepped away and handed him the trousers she mended for him. Part of her ached to kiss him, touch his cheek, feel the stubble on his cheeks and chin, but they weren’t alone. A reckless thought crossed her mind and the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“Find me again, Ghost Wolf. Find me and I’ll tell you.” She backed further away. “Al diel shala.”

They took him. Took all three of them. Izzy met Rehgar’s smug look with a sneer. Then the bastard spoke only to Archie, commenting on how the quality of care was excellent but he needed to replace his staff. She turned so she wouldn’t have to face them and thumped her fist on the table. Her anger burned bright and hot inside her. Weak. Still weak. A disgrace to the Ambershield name. She learned a lot from Archie. Her healing skills improved and she toughened up by dealing with a variety of assholes.

But it wasn’t enough.

“You’re leaving.” Archie’s voice came from behind her. She turned and he drummed his fingers on the exam table. “Probably for the best. Rehgar’s got a lot of friends with money and power.”

She scoffed. “As though I’d run from the likes of him. I’m just restless is all. I’ve picked up a lot but I think it’s time to go.” She sobered, unable to even muster a smile. “Thank you for taking me on, Archie.”

“How many times - ?” he growled but stopped himself. “You were more trouble than any other flesh bag to enter my infirmary. But if I don’t hear your name on everyone’s lips in a few years, I’ll eat my manky old foot.”

She laughed and hugged the old bag of bones. He grumbled but patted her back before shoving her away. Izzy packed while he wrote her a letter of recommendation in case she decided to join another organization. She stayed to assist him through the day’s matches and headed out just before sunset. South. Thousand Needles probably needed help thanks to the Razorfen dens right on the border. The arena didn’t work out the way she planned but she had to keep trying. Even if she had to try a thousand different things and climb a thousand different paths, she’d keep moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> -My writing buddy, papersparrow, and I have written WoW fics together for years. The name "deadlights" to describe Forsaken eyes comes from her as, since they're corpses, they aren't eyes as we know it but we needed something to call them. I won't be using any of her characters out of respect for her as a writer but will be using the ideas we developed together so she still gets credit. Cause she's awesome.
> 
> -Varian/Lo'Gosh's hair color is an ever-changing mystery, sometimes black and sometimes dark brown, but I chose to go with his in-game model that showed dark brown hair and pale blue eyes.
> 
> -Writing playlist has been updated to reflect the new chapter! This one was a toughie, but I eventually settled on "On Top of the World" from one of the Barbie movies. Cheesy I know, but I loved the message of someone trying and failing but still believing and moving on. And it's just a nice song in general. Playlist is here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3jlH2xpJOlKbjG57QsmAGz?si=q1iJ0vkgTTmGvJcDcWgosA
> 
> Guess that's it for now. Thanks so much for stopping by this little corner of Azeroth and see y'all next week!


	3. Friend or Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

****

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

She never made it to Thousand Needles. On her way south, she stopped off in Ratchet and got wind of jobs in Booty Bay. High paying jobs. The deep jungle sounded like a decent challenge to hone her fighting skills, so she booked passage on the Maiden’s Fancy to the seedy port town. The minute she breathed in the thick, muggy air, she regretted all of her life decisions. Her hair turned into a thundercloud of frizz and sweat and the only thing keeping her from turning back to the desert was the lure of money and a challenge. As soon as they docked, she soaked her hair in water until her curls were almost straight, scraped it into a manageable bun, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Then her thighs started to rub and chafe and her layers of cloth armor weighed her down like damp sacks of mud. Fantastic.

“Fuck this,” she snarled and slung her backpack onto a table at the inn. “And I thought the desert was bad.”

She pulled out her scissors and stripped off her robe. She needed a new one anyway. A few cuts, a bit of glue to keep the edges from fraying, and she nodded in satisfaction. The robe was closer to a tunic, sleeveless, with a lower cut neckline, and the ends of the panels reached her knees instead of her ankles. After tossing a coin to the barkeep, she retreated to a room where she could do similar alterations on her other clothes. When she stepped out again, they still stuck to her skin but at least they didn’t weigh her down as much.

“Thanks.” She slid onto a stool and rummaged around for her hearthstone. “Mind if I set my hearth here?”

“Not at all sweetheart.” The goblin, the innkeeper she presumed, winked at her. They performed the small ritual and a blue glow settled over her. “There ya go. Welcome to Booty Bay. Skindle’s the name and I run the Salty Sailor.”

“Nice to meet you Skindle. I’m looking for work. Know anyone with jobs that need doing?”

Which led her to the Ruins of Zul’Kanda after a brief stop in Grom’gol to register the flight path. Bloody bone necklaces. Trolls and their voodoo. The ruins had been easy to find but unluckily, trolls roamed everywhere. In pairs. In packs. She spun her mace, having traded it for her knife as her main combat weapon, and crouched near the entrance in some ferns. The blunt spikes instead of clean cuts meant she worked harder for her kills but wielding it worked her arms and shoulders better. The enchantments on it that boosted her magic and stamina didn’t hurt either.

Nor did the sensation of bashing in skulls whenever she got really pissed off. So satisfying.

She waited, judged her moment to strike, and cast. A flurry of holy spells, spears, spikes, and swearing followed as Izzy beat down the first troll and then his friend. Panting, swimming in sweat and hotter than ever, she rifled through their pockets and checked for the bone necklaces. No luck. She sighed and pocketed the coin and cloth she scavenged then moved on. Another pair followed the fate of the first and she mopped her face. She found one bone necklace and silently cursed her luck.

Nineteen more to go.

Trouble came when she tried taking on a trio and lost sight of one shaman. He ran off, sounded the alarm, and came back with friends.

A pack of three doubled to a pack of six.

Izzy groaned and popped the cork on a mana potion. She chugged it, tossed the vial, and shuddered as her body absorbed the magic. She cast holy fire and a shadow word on the shaman closest to death, then psychic scream. Three trolls ran. The shaman dropped. The last two didn’t run. She snapped the spell for a shield around her and swung her mace. Her arm and shoulder muscles screamed. Sweat dripped in her eyes. Breathing hurt. She drew her wand. Swung and shot spellfire until a second troll dropped.

One lunged in with a spear. She danced back and tripped over a protruding root. Roars echoed, cursing her race, and her heart lodged itself in her throat. Psychic scream wore off. The three idiots raced back with six others behind. She swore, panic rising as she dodged another spear. A line of fire burned on her thigh. She hissed. Blood snaked down her leg. Two of the new trolls gathered lightning in their hands. No choice. Izzy used the last of her magic to cast a shield and ran.

Blurred ruins flashed by. Splashes of color and more shouts alerted even _more_ trolls to her location. A frustrated, terrified scream escaped her, followed by a shriek of pain as another spear grazed her arm. Her shield dissolved. Crackling air heralded another lightning bolt. She couldn’t dodge. It crashed into her back and pain shot down her spine. She shrieked and dropped. Grass and dirt got in her mouth and stuck to her skin as she tumbled down the hill. Izzy managed to get to her feet and skidded in a crouch until she stopped, blood on her palms and knees, panting hard.

“Fuck. Fuck.” She shook out her hands and looked up. “Oh shit.”

Three trolls, including that damn shaman, continued to chase her. She tried to stand. Pain shot up her ankle and she fell. Run. She needed to run. Heal her ankle so she could flee. But she was out of mana. It wasn’t regenerating fast enough. Her body still hummed from the potion. Bandages. Get bandages. Izzy hopped along as best she could while fumbling for a roll of bandages in her pack. If she could make it to the tree ahead. Streaks of lightning crackled through the air. Too late. Too slow. Izzy braced herself.

A shield flew from the right and ricocheted off the three trolls.

A wild, whooping cry came from a tall, muscled form in plate armor. Izzy watched, her mouth open and ankle forgotten, as the paladin slammed into the trio with her sword held high. A black and orange streak raced by her. She shrieked and jumped. A raspy cackle followed and Izzy whirled. Or tried to. She would have fallen if a strong hand hadn’t grabbed her by the shoulder and steadied her.

“Don’t you be worrying about Aan’ten now.” A female troll stepped up beside her, accent thick but audible. “Trained him myself.”

Izzy flushed. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about your...friend?”

“Ah, yah. She likes fighting.” She strung her bow and nocked an arrow before she loosed. “You alright?”

She nodded and the taller woman tossed her head, refocusing on the fight. Long white braids with tiny beads and charms woven through tumbled down her back. Arrow after arrow flew towards the battling group and each one hit their mark. Another spearman went down, studded with arrows and the tiger at his throat. Izzy checked the paladin’s aura. Yellow green and dropping steadily. She cast a healing spell and flinched as it drained her mana again. So Izzy switched to her wand and helped as best she could until they were all dead. The last one fell when the paladin took his head.

“Ha! Victory is mine!” she cheered and let out a breath. “Well, ours. Thanks for the assist Tenny.” She rubbed the cat between his ears.

“Now don’t you be calling him that. He’s a trained combat companion not some house pet you can cuddle.” The hunter slung her bow over her quiver and whistled for her pet. “C’mere Aan’ten, lemme see them wounds.”

The Light faded from the paladin's armor and Izzy blinked. The sin’dorei woman wore no helm or had it enchanted to be hidden. Izzy hoped it was the latter. Her hair might have been blonde but it was dark with sweat and pinned in a tight bun. The beaming grin on her face coaxed a smile from Izzy.

“Never met a paladin that happy,” she mumbled and hissed when she put weight on her foot. “Ah, son of a - ”

“Never met a priestess who cussed like that,” the paladin quipped with a laugh. “Need a hand? I know some field healing.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Izzy settled on the ground, pulled out her bandages, and started patching herself up.

The paladin nodded and plopped on the ground, pulling a flask from her pack. “Are you always that popular, lady priestess?”

Izzy scoffed. “Only when I’m trying.”

Her quip rewarded her with a laugh. The paladin glanced at her ankle and placed a hand over it. Light wrapped around the injury and sank in. Unlike the threads Izzy always pictured for hers, the magic knitted together in chains until it wrapped around her ankle like a tiny blanket. She sighed as the throbbing eased and wiggled her toes.

“Excellent work.”

“Thanks. Figured I’d learn a little healing before Lady Liadrin kicked me out of the training halls.” She held out her hand. “I’m Desi.”

“Izzy.” She accepted the hand and shook. “Why would Lady Liadrin dismiss you? She’s so patient.”

“Let’s just say the lady’s patience disappears when it comes to murlocs in the men’s quarters.” Desi flushed but wore a smug smile. “Bachi’s too.”

Izzy hid a snort but she wanted to hear that story. No one played jokes like that in the priest cloisters. She put away her bandages and pulled out some roast raptor eggs and melon juice. The hunter crooned to her tiger, one hand rubbing his head, the other dropping a third steak on the ground. Tigers didn’t purr but he rumbled his approval and rubbed his face against her hand then face.

“Good boy.” She rose, all strong, wiry legs and powerful arms and shoulders. “My name be Luzari but this one - ”

“I call her Lulu,” Desi said with a smirk. “You would not believe the number of people that confuses.”

Izzy laughed again. “Finally! Someone with a mouth as big as mine. Matron would be horrified.” She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your help but I should get going. Those bone necklaces won’t find themselves.”

Desi frowned. “You’ll be alright? Most of the priests I know travel with a paladin or warrior to protect them.”

The jab hurt but she waved it off. “I won’t learn to fight if I go around with someone who wants to stand me behind them and look pretty.”

“But why learn to fight now? Priests aren’t trained for combat. They’re trained to heal. To support others whose responsibility it is to protect them.” Desi studied her. “You’d need to train a lot more before you could wield a weapon or throw a decent punch.”

Fire burned up Izzy’s spine and her eyes flashed. “Why don’t you shut up about things you don’t understand? And you wonder why Lady Liadrin lost her patience.”

The paladin flushed and frowned. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“I’m only responding to the patronizing tone you used with someone you don’t even know. I’m also not the one who insinuated that the stranger was a weakling and needs to be sheltered and protected because they’re so obviously helpless with their lack of muscle mass and fighting skills.”

Desi opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Gasped. All the color drained from her face. “Oh shit.”

Izzy huffed and put her things away before getting to her feet. If she wasn’t careful, her irritation would grow to anger and she didn’t want to scream at the people who helped her out of a tight spot. But it hurt. She heard it before. A priest wasn’t a paladin. A priest was meant to stay on the back lines and heal. Priests couldn’t fight. Instead of years of combat training they learned to save the very lives others cut down. Desi may have insulted her but she also reminded Izzy of why she risked her life in the wilds rather than stay safe in Silvermoon. She was tired of being unable to protect what mattered most.

“Again, thank you for your help but you don’t have to worry about me. Good luck and safe travels to the both of you.” Izzy bowed her head to Lulu and shot Desi a look before starting off.

“Wait. Please wait.” Desi appeared at her side, face flushed and gaze lowered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Finally proved Liadrin right.” She tried for a weak laugh but wilted under Izzy’s stare. “Let me make it up to you. I’ve had eight years of combat training and I’ve spent two in the field. I can teach you how to fight like a paladin and condition your body, build up your wind and stamina.”

She hesitated. The offer tempted her. To learn skills only taught to paladins, to improve her health and stamina so she didn’t tire easily, sounded like a dream. She chewed her bottom lip. Desi glanced up, hopeful, but didn’t push.

“Why would you do that? You don’t know me.”

“You’re right, we don’t. But I insulted you. I want to make it right and do better.” She turned to her friend. “Is that okay, Lu?”

The troll shrugged. “Could always use a healer who knows what they’re doing.” She glanced down at her pet and nudged him.

The tiger stretched, arched his hindquarters, and lashed his tail before sauntering over. Izzy knelt and held her hands out, palm up, for him to inspect. He didn’t just sniff her hands though. He smelled her from top to toe, his hot breath tickling her ears and making her giggle. But she stayed mindful of those long teeth only inches from her throat. Her stomach. After a few moments he circled around to her front and butted his head against her palm to demand pets. She obliged with a relieved laugh.

Lulu nodded. “He knows who smells like trouble and who don’t. If Aan’ten don’t bite your hand off, you’re good people.”

She scratched under his chin and he growled, closing his eyes in response. “Glad I measured up.”

“Now that that’s settled, what do you ladies say to a bit of troll cleanup?” Desi rubbed her hands together, grinning. “Now that we got a healer, I can use more retribution spells, which means I get to use my baby.”

Laughing in glee, she tucked her sword and shield into an enchanted pocket of her pack. Those little touches and clever storage ensured adventurers could spend days or weeks in the field before returning to civilization. Part of the reason they were so coveted and why she learned tailoring and enchanting. The downside was they had to be emptied often. With magic pockets, junk tended to accumulate. Desi grunted and hauled out an enormous double-headed axe and gave it a few swings.

“Oh yes, that’s much better. I don’t mind taking point as the meat shield but I much prefer raining retribution down on my enemies. So.” She slung her axe over one shoulder. “Who’s ready to go kill things?”

The trio shared a laugh and headed back to the ruins. Izzy had a bone to pick with those trolls and it didn’t involve their necklaces.

*** * * ***

A week later and Izzy started to regret agreeing to Desi’s offer. The paladin had her on a strict routine: up before dawn to run up and down the various hills and small mountains in Stranglethorn and of course fight off any beasts they came across. Once her limbs resembled little more than noodles, they headed back to wherever they camped for the night. Breakfast then work until they needed to stop for a midday meal. After that, it was hunting for resources for their various professions, selling and restocking in town, and more training before dinner and sleep. On occasion their nightly training was skipped in favor of finishing a job, but so far it only happened twice. Otherwise she faced down either Desi or Lulu for an hour or two to learn how to really fight.

Lulu knocked her back with one shove of her shoulder. Izzy skidded back, the heels of her boots digging into the dirt, and glared at the taller woman. Much taller. Lulu also wielded two swords, not just one, and knew how to use them. Izzy’s wrists and arms wobbled but she held onto her mace. The first thing she learned about fighting: never drop the weapon. Lulu taught her that the first time they sparred. Lu meanwhile looked fresh as a daisy and cocked her hip out, standing calm and casual over Izzy.

“You’re not gonna get any better if you get tired so quick, Izzy girl.”

“Oh come on. You’re taller and stronger than me and I’ve never fought anything scarier than my mother in a temper.” She swiped her arm over her brow but it did little to wipe away the sweat. “Am I at least doing better?”

“You lasted three minute longer than last time,” Desi cheered from the campfire where she cooked and Aan’ten lounged.

“That’s _it_?”

“Progress is progress,” the maddening paladin pointed out.

Izzy growled. “Your cheerfulness is fucking irritating.” She rolled her neck and shoulders in an attempt to loosen up.

Lulu darted in and thrust. Izzy parried with her mace but had to dance to avoid the second blade. They traded blows, Lulu correcting her form and smacking her with the flat of her blade when she didn’t fix it fast enough. By the time the hunter declared them finished, Izzy could barely crawl to the ocean. They set up camp just outside of Grom’gol, close to the shore and the walls of the fort, but far enough away for some privacy. She dunked herself in the shallows and flailed around in the warm water before coming back up. Bright laughter and coarser cackles came from her traveling companions and she shot them a rude gesture.

“The next time the two of you stand in fire, I’m not healing you,” she groused as she did the stretches and cool down exercises Desi had shown her.

“You say that now but you’ll change your tune once you taste my jungle stew and egg dish over rice,” Desi bragged.

Izzy’s mouth watered. “That’s just mean.”

Desi shrugged. “Thank Lulu. She got bored while you and I were swimming this morning.”

“Aan’ten needed the exercise.” Lulu squatted near her packs and rummaged around in the pockets. “My healing cream’ll fix you up good.” She waited for Izzy to trudge out from the ocean, clothes streaming water. “How much longer til the food’s ready?”

“Long enough for you to slap some of that goop on her.”

With that in mind, Izzy stripped down behind a tree and crop of fronds and put on a sleeveless cotton robe. She draped her wet things on the packs to dry and made a note to do laundry the next time they were in town. Lulu handed her the jar and rubbed some cream between her hands.

“Want me to get your back?”

“You’ve already got my back,” Izzy teased to snorts of laughter. “But if you could rub that stuff in, I’d appreciate it, thank you.”

She pulled her arms out of the sleeve holes and lowered the back of the robe while pulling enough material up to cover her breasts. She pinned the front fabric in place with her elbows, brushed the sand off of her calves, and leaned over to rub in the cream. It smelled of astringent herbs and a touch of mint. Not unpleasant and much less flowery than the ointments created in Silvermoon. Thick, callused fingers pressed into her back and massaged the sore muscles. Relief blended with the pain as knots came undone under Lulu’s hands and Izzy’s eyes rolled.

“Keep making sounds like that Izzy girl and I might go getting the wrong idea,” Lulu’s husky voice tickled her ear.

Her face burned. She must have moaned or something. She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. “You’re an amazing and attractive woman, Lulu, but not quite my type. And I can’t think about things like lovers anyway.”

“Why not?” Desi gathered their bowls and tossed several chunks of roast raptor to Aan’ten.

Izzy blushed darker than before and shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

Desi nodded. “Fair enough.”

A chuckle rumbled from behind her. “Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know. I wouldn’t turn you away.”

After that, Lulu’s touch turned brisker, more platonic, but still gentle as she worked the lotion into Izzy’s sore back and shoulders. She sighed and smiled her thanks when they finished and Lulu took a spot by the fire. When she offered to help Lulu with her back, the other woman waved her off.

“You barely hit me. When you actually give me a challenge I’ll take that back rub and gladly.” She winked and smoothed a small amount on her arms and shoulders before putting the jar away.

“Speaking of challenges.” Desi handed out the food and sat. “I need to go back to Silvermoon for training.”

Lulu nodded. “I’ve gotten letters from auctioneers about some of the lots I’ve bought and sold. They want me to come collect. Maybe time to head back to the Undercity.”

Izzy’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. She lowered it before she could spill but said nothing as Lulu and Desi talked. She wasn’t sure she needed to see a trainer but even if she did, she didn’t want to go back to the Undercity. Not until she could hold her head high around Lady Sylvanas. The memory still hurt. That cold, beautiful voice still rang in her ears. Declared her nothing. She shook her head and took a large bite of stew. The rich broth and tender meat combined with sweet egg and vegetables and she closed her eyes. For a moment she could focus on the present instead of the past.

“We’re getting to a point where jobs are thinning out.” Desi’s voice cut through her delight at the food. “We should probably look into moving elsewhere. Maybe Tanaris or something.”

“Aye. What do you think, Izzy?”

She nodded. “I don’t need to go to the Undercity for anything but I think looking around for more work wouldn’t hurt.”

“Alright then. We leave tomorrow.”

The rest of the night passed in peace. While Izzy cleaned up the remains of supper, Desi got out her knitting project and started counting stitches. The first time she saw the paladin knitting, it reminded her of Desi’s magic. Lulu carved small figures from wood and her current project was a statue of Aan’ten in mid-leap, fangs and claws bared. They talked and told stories around the fire as they had for the past several nights and each time, Izzy learned something about her new friends.

“Are you going to learn the spell to summon your mount this time, Desi?” Izzy packed away the dishes and disassembled the tripod.

“Sure am.” Desi’s whole face brightened. “I haven’t been on a horse since I worked in grandma’s stables. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of mount I end up getting.”

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “Won’t know if we got a sweet tempered one or a problem child until the actual summoning. I wouldn’t mind a mount with more spirit but I don’t want one that doesn’t play well with others. That’ll take more training than I think I have the time for and would slow us down.”

“Aye, I know that feeling.” Lulu nodded and blew away shavings from her carving. “Our raptors are trained from birth to carry riders into battle but no amount of training can change their personalities.”

They talked into the night, with Izzy taking first watch as the sun sank. She banked the fire and settled in to watch the ocean. The waves rolled and murmured over the sandy beach, the twin moons shining down over the dark water. For the first time in a while, peace settled over her. She had a full stomach, companions to share a hearth with, and slow but steady progress towards reaching her dreams. After Desi took over for the middle shift, Izzy settled into her bedroll and fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

They packed up the next morning and ate a cold breakfast so they could catch the early zeppelin north. Aan’ten sulked as they boarded the ship, hiding amidst crates and barrels, only his twitching tail to be seen. Lulu chuckled and declared she’d stay with him for the journey. Izzy made her way to the deck and leaned against the railing. Jungle zipped away beneath them and they sailed out over the sea. Heading towards the Undercity. Towards her. She bit her lip and sighed.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Desi leaned against the rail, back to the ocean, without fear of falling in despite all her armor and clank.

“Isn’t the phrase ‘thinking too hard’?”

“Dunno who came up with that. It’s not that hard to think. Not for most people anyway.”

Izzy choked on a laugh. “And here I thought my mouth got me into trouble. You’re worse than me.”

“Oh I’ve got _stories_ ,” Desi promised. She tapped her fingers against the wood. “Bet you do too. About why you don’t want to go to the Undercity. Or why you haven’t gone back to Silvermoon.”

Like before, Desi didn’t push, but the question hung in the air. Izzy managed a small smile. Desi’s willingness to let her talk, or not, was one of the things she’d grown to like about the paladin. The breeze caught stray locks from her bun and Desi’s golden waves. A few strands brushed over her eyes but Desi tucked them behind her ear and turned her gaze to the sky. Not smothering Izzy under the weight of her stare. She swallowed. There was something about the open, patient expression on her face, the lack of expectations, that made her want to tell Desi everything. All of her woes and pain of the past.

“Bad memories,” she eventually said. “We all have them.”

Silence. Desi’s eyes softened in sympathy and she turned around so she could lean on her elbows and watch the scenery fly by.

“I hate flying.”

Izzy frowned at the odd declaration. “Then why are you on an airship? For hours?”

“Cause it’s faster and safer than a flight path, though that’s debatable. Mostly cause I fell off my first flight from Silvermoon to the Ghostlands and right in front of the pretty flight master too. Haven’t liked flying since.”

The willingness to open up cracked her hesitation a little and she smiled. “How did you survive the fall?”

What followed was hours talking and relaxing with the other woman. Desi’s merchant family traveled around Azeroth selling their inscription services and delicious food and she spent her formative years growing up with them. It wasn’t until she entered paladin training that she moved to the city to stay with her grandparents and worked in their stables to help pay for tuition. She had three siblings, lost during the invasion, but both of her parents and her grandfather survived. Izzy eventually confessed that her mother followed Prince Kael’thas into Outlands and she feared never seeing her again. Desi didn’t speak for a few moments then declared they should work to become stronger together so someday they could return to Outlands and find their lost brethren.

It was an impossible but comforting thought. One that deserved a hug. She leaned into Desi and squeezed her briefly around the waist, even though the plate didn’t make the experience entirely pleasant.

“I knew it. I knew you were a hugger.” Desi draped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“How?”

“You like to touch things. You mess with your belt or your robes when nervous. You love petting Aan’ten cause Lulu takes such good care of his coat. Damn cat’s spoiled rotten.” They shared a laugh before Desi shifted so Izzy stood in the circle of her arms. “Mostly? You’ve got this need to comfort and care for others through touch. Healers’ hands.”

Her breath caught for a moment. Desi learned that about her after just one week? She never noticed it. Then again, she doubted anyone noticed how they acted in the heat of the moment. But she had wanted to touch Lo’Gosh. And the brief brush of Lady Sylvanas’ fingers still ignited a breathless, fluttering feeling in her chest. She cleared her throat and stepped back, suddenly self-conscious about how close they were.

“I’ll try to keep that in check. I don’t want to hurt anyone and I’m not - I don’t want a relationship now. Not yet.”

“And that’s okay.” Desi squeezed her shoulder. “But if you ever want some platonic hugging, let me know.”

Platonic hugging? She liked the sound of that. The rest of the journey she remained in her own world, thinking back and examining all the times she touched something or someone. All were times when she either sought or offered comfort. Her troubled thoughts followed her through the landing in Brill, her trek to the inn, and even as she ordered a drink from Renee, the innkeeper. The room buzzed around her. She pulled herself back to the present and listened. Gossip hinted that the Scarlet Crusaders were causing troubles for the Dark Lady. Attacking newly risen Forsaken, disrupting supply lines, and generally making nuisances of themselves. Izzy frowned and sipped her drink.

“Are they stepping up their attacks or something to get the Dark Lady’s attention like this?” she asked Renee.

Renee shrugged. “The adventurers that’ve tried to take down Whitemane and her champion, Mograine, keep failing. The Dark Lady wants them dealt with as soon as possible. Not much else to tell.”

Izzy hummed. Although she wanted to avoid anything to do with Sylvanas for the moment, the opportunity to take down the commanding officers of the Scarlet Crusade wasn’t something to dismiss out of hand. But they would need help. Their monastery slash fortress was known to be packed with crusaders ready to slaughter anyone or anything that breached their walls.

“Excuse me.” A silver haired sin’dorei appeared in her line of vision, a goblet of wine balanced in his fingers. “I couldn’t help but overhear. May we speak, lady priestess?”

“If you introduce yourself first.”

“Ah, my apologies. It has been some time since I graced Silvermoon’s court.” He gave her a half bow. “Zae’len Felwhisper, milady. Call me Zae.”

“Izzy. Just Izzy.” She accepted the hand and shook it. “How can I help you?”

“My associate and I heard the rumors about the Banshee Queen’s irritation with her northerly neighbors.” He settled into the seat across from her. “He’s confirming those rumors in the city now. Ket might be a rotten fellow but he does have a certain charm that others find irresistible.”

“Is he a warlock too?”

He smirked, his fel green eyes flaring. “However did you guess? But no. He’s more of a hands on type of man. You’ll understand if you meet him.” He sipped his drink. “Nevertheless, Ket and I want to take it upon ourselves to rid the Banshee Queen of her troubles. Namely, bring her the heads of Whitemane and Mograine. We’re seeking like-minded people to accompany us inside. Are you interested?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back again!
> 
> Hope everyone had a safe and sane Labor Day. I managed to get a lot of time to write so I've already begun tinkering with next week's chapter. Not so many notes for this one, just that I hope I captured that feeling in Vanilla/Classic of "everything will kill you" and the relief that comes when random strangers come by to help you kill things.
> 
> A note on Lulu's accent (or accents in general): I don't feel comfortable trying to write the accent as it sounds. It's a personal thing, mostly because I don't want to make a caricature of said accents. However, that doesn't mean they aren't there. I also modeled Lulu's way of speaking after Princess Talanji, who has excellent diction and just an overall enjoyable speaking voice.
> 
> The song that inspired this chapter is from an old cartoon that I adore even to this day, Jem and the Holograms. Check it out on Youtube or on this story's playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3jlH2xpJOlKbjG57QsmAGz?si=q1iJ0vkgTTmGvJcDcWgosA
> 
> Thanks for stopping by this little corner of Azeroth and for all the hits and kudos. You guys rock. See you next week!


	4. High Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

  
**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**  


The man knew how to talk. Of course, many Silvermoon nobles did. He gave off that slick, clever aura Izzy immediately distrusted. Quite a few of Silvermoon’s noblemen tried using silver tongues on women to wrap them in iron chains. He offered to buy her a drink but she refused. If they were going to tackle negotiations for grouping together she needed a clear head. She drummed her fingers on the table. His magic itched her. The way he eyed her, like he knew something he didn’t, irritated her.

“I can’t speak for my companions.”

“Naturally.”

“But I wouldn’t be averse to talking.”

He smiled and inclined his head. “I can’t think of many more pleasant ways to spend an evening than conversing with a beautiful woman.”

“If you’re done flirting, I got news.” A forsaken rogue faded into view against the fireplace. He raked his deadlights over her, a crooked grin on his face. “Not bad taste though, Zae.”

“Ket, I thought we talked about this. Forgive him.” Zae shrugged. “If his rotting limbs don’t scare you away, his attitude will. This is Kennet Earle but - ”

“I prefer my working name. The other sounds like some puffed up noble.” He nodded to her. “Priestess.” Then scowled at Zae. “And laugh it up buttercup. We’ll see just who ends up with rotting limbs.”

“Any luck enticing other interested parties in accompanying us into the monastery?” Zae asked.

He shook his head. “Not even the Dark Lady’s reward is enough to tempt any adventurers competent enough to not get us all killed. We’ll have better luck trying again in the morning when the zeppelin returns.”

Izzy frowned but smoothed it away quickly. There had to be adventurers in the city up to gain a bit of reputation with the Dark Lady. Forsaken desperate to avenge their peers and prove worthy of the Dark Lady. The Undercity was a hub for all races traveling between the two continents. There had to be some folks. Maybe Ket’s manner did turn away others. But she coached herself to keep an open mind.

Zae sighed then studied her with interest. “And who did you say your companions were?”

“I didn’t.”

His eyes gleamed. “Then by all means, let’s wait for them.”

She settled back in her seat and requested water from Renee. As the two men debated on whether or not they should move that night, Izzy sipped and thought. The Scarlet Monastery. The human zealots plagued Tirisfal Glades and beyond, determined to exterminate any non-human or non-believer that fell into their clutches. They weren’t picky in their hatred. Her knee jiggled. She bit her lip and watched the door, willing Desi and Lulu to return. Zae engaged her in conversation again and they traded gossip about names they knew in Silvermoon, though hers was woefully out of date.

When Lulu and Desi finally came back, Izzy could have kissed them.

“How did training go?”

“Fantastic,” Desi said and plopped down. “Got my mount and even managed to impress Lady Liadrin. Or at least I didn’t piss her off again.” She nodded at the men, a question in her eyes.

Izzy made the introductions and explained the proposal.

“Ah, good thing I be stopping by the city then.” Lulu patted a pocket on her pack. “Got these from that hulking demon.”

She took out a sheaf of papers and spread them out. They marked their group as official agents of the Dark Lady, stamped with her seal, and signed in her flowing script. A bit more conversation and they hammered out the details on how to split the spoils and who would take which position. They agreed to travel to the monastery before first light and separated. Izzy, Desi, and Lulu shared a room for the night and after settling, they checked their gear and supplies.

Lulu brewed more potions and wound bandages near the small hearth in the room. Aan’ten curled around her like a giant, furry rug, his back to the flames, and snored. Desi went over all of her plate armor and took her shield and sword to the armorer for a quick touch up. Izzy added enchantments to their bracers and chest pieces. They chatted as they worked but she couldn’t stop thinking about what they would find. Other adventurers had gone in and returned with armor and coin aplenty. Some even claimed the heads of the master of hounds and the magus that guarded the great library.

“Do you think we’ll find them?” Izzy finished smoothing dust into the stitched enchantments on Lulu’s bracers and handed them back. “Whitemane and Mograine, I mean. Do you think they’re even in the monastery anymore?”

“Don’t know.” Desi looked up from the thick book she scribbled in. “No party has ever made it to the church itself. It’s the last place to really search.”

Izzy hummed under her breath and finished her work. She couldn’t sit still. With everything as ready as it could be, she excused herself and headed downstairs. The night air lay cool on her skin with only a hint of humidity. A welcome relief after the jungles of Stranglethorn. Adventurers set off for the city, loaded down with the day’s spoils. A few guards patrolled. Lights gleamed in windows as Brill settled for the evening. She made her way to the training yard and lit a lantern. The ring lay flat and open. Dummies lined the perimeter but they weren’t her targets.

Taking it slow, Izzy stretched and warmed up her muscles. If she managed to exhaust herself, she’d be able to sleep. As much as the running, swimming, and weapon training helped, she still needed to do the exercises that Desi taught her to build her strength. She jogged the training circle twice to get her heart rate elevated then turned to the workout itself. With her hands behind her head, feet shoulder width apart, and balanced, Izzy began. Squats and lunges first. Then floor presses. The entire time she worked, she focused on form and balance, emptying her mind of other thoughts.

“You’re getting much better at that.”

Izzy yelped and dropped, smacking the dirt as she fell. Until Desi taught her, she hadn’t known there even was a thing called “falling properly” or that it involved hitting the dirt with a cupped hand to dissipate the impact.

“Speak of the demon and she appears,” Izzy muttered and pushed herself into a kneeling position. “Thank you. I haven’t been doing the exercises as much because someone insists on waking me up at the ass crack of dawn to go running.”

Desi shrugged, not sorry in the least. “Good habit to have when invading strongholds. Most guards are exhausted by the end of the night shift and the morning crew doesn’t usually arrive until after sunup. It’s the perfect time to strike.”

She stared for a moment then shook her head. “You know you’re actually a really good paladin. So why play the fool?”

Silence greeted her question. Desi entered the training yard and lowered herself to stretch. They worked without speaking, going through the familiar exercises, until both of them were flushed but Izzy was the only one breathing hard. She mopped her brow with a towel. Desi handed her a waterskin and she accepted it with a grateful smile. They each took a few gulps before trudging back inside.

“Feel better?” When Izzy nodded, Desi smiled. “Good. Get some rest. I’ll ask a maid to wake us before dawn.”

Desi made her way to the washroom but Izzy reached out to touch her shoulder. “You never answered my question.”

The paladin smiled. “No I didn’t. Maybe someday I will.” She patted Izzy’s hand and disappeared into the smaller room.

A frown tugged at her brows. It shouldn’t have bothered her that Desi didn’t tell her but she couldn’t help but wonder what she hid as she cleaned up and changed into a sleeping robe. Izzy scolded herself. She shouldn’t be so suspicious of her friends just because Zae rubbed her the wrong way. At least she tired herself out enough to sleep. She tiptoed into the room. Lulu lay fast asleep, partially on the floor and partially on Aan’ten. Izzy moved to one of the beds and settled down on the small cot. She waited in the darkness for Desi to return and when she did, Izzy reached out and gently grasped her wrist.

“Thank you.”

She released her and sighed, settling in to sleep. When a maid knocked on their door, the three dragged themselves from their beds. They gathered their packs, yawning and bleary-eyed. Despite the depth of her sleep, Izzy dragged. Blinking through fog, she ordered Renee’s strongest coffee and nursed it at the bar. Desi ducked out to get her gear, yawning wide enough to crack her jaw. Zae joined her at the bar with his own coffee while Lulu and Ket talked entrances, tracking, and strategy.

Once everything was set, they left.

Night still covered the land. The only light in the forest came from the two moons and stars above. They didn’t use torches, relying on Lulu’s tracking and the glow from various eyes to light the way. A few bats drifted over but a snarl from Aan’ten and they quickly lost interest. Guiding their mounts through the trees, they found the winding path that stretched into the hills where the spires of the Scarlet Monastery stood in shadow.

A palpable darkness lingered over the area. It lay thick and heavy in the air and tasted rank on Izzy’s tongue. So many lost their lives in those crimson halls, only have their bodies desecrated and hung from the trees like so much meat. Izzy’s last meal threatened to make a reappearance as the spiritual energy of the tortured souls pressed in on her from all sides. Desi murmured prayers under her breath. Izzy hid her scoff. Prayers would do them no good. Only actions mattered. Justice for the dead. For the lost and forgotten. She swallowed down her nausea and continued.

Something creaked above their heads.

Izzy looked up and smothered a cry. A fresh corpse hung in the lowest branches of a tree. The blue tabard marked him as a member of the Alliance and the dark hair reminded her so much of Lo’Gosh it pulled a visceral reaction from her gut. It wasn’t him. Couldn’t have been him. He was far away in Kalimdor. The body was also too slight. Too short. That was all she had to go on because there wasn’t much else left. It hung flayed from the neck down, red and raw to the elements and animals. Birds pecked at the exposed muscle and sinew, cawing and watching them with jewel-bright eyes.

“Come.” Zae stepped forward on the path. “There’s nothing we can do for that poor bastard.”

The others murmured and continued. Desi lingered and made the sign of the Light before riding on. Izzy stayed. She whispered a blessing for the man’s soul and for the family and friends left behind. The words churned her stomach but she couldn’t deny that it was part of her calling. To ease the suffering of others even if they no longer dwelled in their mortal bodies. She bowed her head and clicked her tongue at Sethy.

They ran into a pair of guards outside the entrance but with Ket’s poisons and Lulu’s traps, they took them down easily. The problems started when they entered the monastery itself. It had high ceilings, yes, but tight turns and narrow corridors dimly lit with torches instead of the more modern light globes.

Lulu cursed. “Can’t get a decent shot anywhere,” she complained as they made their way down some stairs.

“Anyone up ahead?” Desi asked.

Lulu frowned and her eyes glowed brighter. She scanned the room for a moment before speaking.

“No one’s been here recently. No tracks, no heat trails, nothing. Can’t sense anything outside either. Might be near the old houndmaster’s area.” She blinked and her eyes returned to normal. “Do we keep going?”

“Let’s turn back.” Desi moved through them to once more take point. “Ket, can you scout ahead?”

He vanished. The only sign of his departure was a draft that made the torchlight flicker. They followed. Izzy hovered near the center of the group, mace out, ears pricked for danger. Zae pointed out Ket’s trail signs, small etches in the walls to guide their path, and they retraced their steps back into the main entrance. Ket lounged against a wall and beckoned them closer, a finger to his lips. Beyond them lay a corridor with some activity leading to an open area where men and women patrolled.

“We’re close to the armory and the Hall of Champions. Mograine's the personal champion of Whitemane, but there’s another one in there. Or there should be. Unless they moved things around since the last group came back with Koegler’s head,” Ket murmured, naming the dead mage who guarded the library.

“Only one way to find out.” Desi shot him a grin and slipped into the tunnel.

They progressed steadily through the protectors and trainees but things became more complicated once they entered the first armory.

The walls had holes and sound carried easily. Whenever they engaged a group of guardsmen and defenders, one would inevitably run off to sound the alarm and bring back more friends. They boxed their group into a corner. Desi stayed at the front but even she couldn’t hold the attention of all of them. Zae switched to his voidwalker, whose shadowy roars drew the extras to him. Lulu let Aan’ten loose and he leaped on the nearest guard. Ket stabbed and sapped, moving between the two clusters of fighting.

Izzy dropped into her healing trance.

Each of her party members glowed. Their health shone like auras around them, some yellow, some closer to orange. She focused on Desi first, then Lulu and Zae when their companions couldn’t keep up and the enemy attacked them directly. Something zinged and stung across her arm. She frowned, her concentration broken as pain blossomed. Izzy pulled herself out of her trance in time to dodge a sword blow from a trainee. She swung her mace wide and slammed it over the top of his head. He dropped.

“Nice hit Izzy girl,” Lulu said, dropping back further so she could actually shoot.

A shout from ahead snapped her back into healing mode.

Desi buckled under the combined attack of three myrmidons. Izzy cast three flash heals in a row while gathering power for a larger spell. Her aura flared yellow then back to red as they pounded on her shield and thrust their swords under and around it. Once she had enough magic, she cast the strongest healing spell she had. Desi blazed with light and roared. She shot to her feet and threw her shield. It slammed into each, drove them back, and gave her room to charge. Panting, Izzy swiped her brow and smashed a defender that tried to sneak up on her. She dented the man’s chest plate then his helm before Lulu riddled him with arrows.

They took down the last of the stragglers before they staggered to a spot of floor not stained with blood and collapsed.

“Fucking fel. What did they do, send an army?” Desi groaned, her sword and shield clattering to the floor.

“Near about.” Zae sank onto a box of weapons and mopped his brow. His hair turned gunmetal grey from sweat and his face pale and gaunt.

“They must have had at least four squads in here.” Desi drank deeply from her flask and gasped, panting. “Which is a pain in the ass for us but likely means there’s something, or someone, in here worth protecting.”

“Agreed.” Ket polished his knives and knelt next to one of the bodies. “Question is where they’re hiding and how many guards are on them.” Wet, tearing sounds followed by the smack of lips made Izzy shudder.

“If it’s the champion, he probably be having lots of guards.” Lulu tossed a hunk of meat to Aan’ten before biting into a raptor leg.

“If we can get his head that would be quite a prize for the Dark Lady.” Zae sipped from a wine skin, eyes brightening from the mana rush.

“Then let’s rest for a bit and go claim that prize for ourselves.” Desi managed a grin before digging around in her pack. “Oh thank the fucking Light.” She pulled out an enormous egg wrapped in wax paper and devoured it.

Izzy giggled as she found a spot to sit and flexed her hands and shoulders. Oddly enough, her muscles weren’t gelatin as she had expected. While she still felt light headed and a bit shaky, she perked up with food and drink. Progress. She smiled and took another bite of cheese. They lingered in the hall until the pains of battle faded. Desi led the way into the next armory with Ket scouting ahead. They went smarter that time. Ket or Lulu would draw their target into the empty armory where the rest of them pounced.

It made for much easier going.

They entered the Hall of Champions. Red and white banners hung from the walls. More torches illuminated the space while patrols roamed around. They utilized the same strategy as before: drawing targets towards them and killing them out of sight. The further they moved down the long hall, the more Izzy’s senses tingled. As crusaders screamed and died around them, something else echoed. Not in her ears but in her soul. The Light pulsed within her. Prayers. Not for a quick death or mercy but vengeance. Freedom. She shivered.

“There’s someone else here.” Izzy pushed her way to the front next to Desi. “A prisoner, I think.”

“I feel it too.” Desi’s voice shook. “The Light - ”

“Is being a fickle bitch,” Izzy snarled. “Picking and choosing who it answers and which prayers it hears.” She breathed a few times until her visceral anger calmed. “Let’s see what we find.”

Desi clasped her shoulder before moving towards the enormous double doors at the end of the corridor. Screams and threats echoed from within and Izzy’s hands balled into fists. Masculine laughter twined through the screams like a venomous snake. One she wanted to smash under her boot. Desi tried the door and shook her head. Ket slid to the front and inserted a few pieces of metal into the lock. He hummed softly as he worked, twisted the metal picks this way and that, until the lock clicked.

“Zae, Lu, you two send in your pets first to catch him by surprise. I’ll follow and get his attention. Ket, see if you can find who’s in there. Take that bastard down. No frills or fancy work just kill him. Got it?”

They nodded or murmured agreement. The air sharpened as they focused on the fight ahead. Ket opened the door and vanished. Lulu signaled Aan’ten and Zae unleashed his demon. The two raced into the room and roared. After a beat, Desi ran in. She shouted a battle cry and a loud clang rang out as their weapons clashed. The rest of them burst into the room, spells and arrows flying, in a fierce fight with an enormous, armor-clad man wearing an obnoxiously ornate helmet. Izzy’s eyes shot up when someone screamed.

A sin’dorei priestess hung chained against the far wall, arms and legs spread, and toes a few inches from the floor, shrieking, "Pig-fucking son of a bastard! I ought to gut you, turn your intestines into sausage, and make you eat it you shit-smelling sadist fuck!"

Izzy blushed. And took notes.

The champion proved a challenge as he and Desi danced about the ring. He roared a spell, his axe blazed, and he spun. The blow knocked Desi, Ket, and the pets back and Izzy rushed to heal them. He spun in place for several seconds before charging back at Desi with a scream. It happened again and again. Without warning he would spin in place, his axe a whirlwind, and struck anyone who got too close. Desi leaped back the third time he spun and Izzy healed the deep cut in her shoulder.

“Can’t get close to the bastard,” Desi snarled.

“Keep trying,” Zae encouraged. “He’s got to stop sometime.”

He stopped and raised his axe. “Light give me strength!”

A red glow emblazoned over his skin and Izzy’s jaw dropped. Her lip curled and she cursed both him and the Light to the depths of the Nether. Before the hypocrisy could ignite her anger, he charged again, and pulled her focus back to the fight. The red aura never left him as his attacks grew stronger, wilder. Izzy dug deep into her core to draw her magic, forcing the Light to give her more. Zae screamed. His aura dropped into the red. Izzy raced to his side and pulled him back, away from Herod.

“Stay down and use your wand, damnit.” She ran to the top of the stairs and cast a heal on Lulu just before the axe claimed her life.

Lulu rolled and scrambled for cover while Desi leaped back into Herod’s line of vision. Izzy chugged a potion, her mana restored, and pulled out her wand. She cast shadow words and shot blasts of magic at Herod in between healing her comrades. Her muscles started to shake. The fight dragged on. No matter what they threw at him, he kept coming back. The seconds when he locked himself in his whirlwind attack became precious as they scrambled to put some distance between them and heal up.

“Ket, try and get the priestess loose,” Desi gasped. “We need all the help we can get.”

He grunted and set to work on opening her shackles. Herod came out of his spin and attacked again. Desi groaned but went back into the fight. Blasts of shadow magic came from behind her as the freed priestess joined the fray. They backed him into a corner. Desi attacked like a woman possessed, her blade chopping like a peon chopped wood. Izzy kept her healed but her slowly rebuilding core drained again.

At last, Desi disarmed him and took his head.

It hit the floor with a dull, wet thud and rolled. For a moment, there was only their harsh breathing and silence. Then Lulu’s head jerked up and she whirled.

“Incoming!”

Twenty trainees stormed the door. Too late to help their fallen champion but more than eager to take advantage of their half-healed group. Desi swore and cast consecration as they streamed into the hall, catching them all on her holy spell. Izzy and the other priestess cast psychic scream while Lulu set a freezing trap that slowed them all down and made them easier to pick off. One by one they fell, until it was only the six of them left in the room. Izzy’s legs gave out and she slumped against the wall.

“Anymore fucking surprises?” she demanded.

“Fel I hope not.” Zae crawled to the wall opposite her and rolled to lay against it, unable to push himself up.

Izzy groaned and then pointed at Desi when she spotted her with a fresh drink. “Sip. Do not gulp.”

Desi shot her a sheepish look and saluted her before she obeyed. Izzy forced herself to crawl over to the fallen priestess, who slumped against the wall where she’d been chained. Matted ink black hair hid her face as she gasped for breath. She raised her hands to heal her but recoiled. A wave of shadow magic washed over the other girl from head to toe. Bruises faded. Cuts closed. Some color returned to her cheeks. When it passed, Izzy helped her drink some juice.

“Easy now,” she murmured. “Take it slow. You’re safe.”

The woman choked mid sip and flailed, struggling to push herself up. “Get out of my way.” She shoved Izzy, used her as a brace, and lurched to her feet.

“How far do you suppose you’ll get like that?” Zae drawled from his corner, sitting up at last.

“As far as I need to. They took him. That bitch and her dog took him and they’re going to purify him.”

A dark hiss and growl twined through the room and the four sin’dorei froze for just a moment. Black memories of teeth and screams, the growls of the Scourge as they hunted. Stay quiet, stay back, don’t look don’t look don’t look - Izzy gasped. Cold water dripped down into her eyes and off the end of her nose. Lulu filled her vision, brows furrowed, and nodded before she moved to Zae.

“What happened?” Izzy croaked.

“The rogue. Gave you all a scare.” Lulu nodded to Zae and the other priestess, both pale and glaring, as she shook Desi and splashed some water in her face.

“I already said sorry,” Ket snapped but at least had the decency to sound abashed. “How was I supposed to know elves were so jumpy?”

The priestess lurched for the door again, muttering nonsense, and Izzy stumbled to her feet.

“Slow down. Who are you talking about?”

“Those fucking zealots took my lover and I intend to get him back.” She cast a healing spell and again that odd shadow magic twined around her and made her eyes glow brighter. “Now move.”

Bits of the conversation came back and Izzy frowned. “They’re going to purify him? Is that a bad thing?”

Ket barked a sarcastic laugh and nodded at the girl. “Her lover’s Forsaken. What they call ‘purify’ is their palatable word for ‘execute.’ And for those of you too slow to catch on, ‘they’ happen to be the ultimate prizes.” He bared his teeth in a macabre grin. “The Dark Lady will be pleased.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter! Izzy and friends are deep in the Scarlet Monastery, made an interesting discovery, and killed a boss. Figured I'd give them some time to recover before I throw more stuff at them.
> 
> The playlist has been updated! This time with a song from Aladdin the Broadway musical. I love this musical, it's so much fun, especially with Aladdin's friends. That seems to be a theme this week. Groups of friends going on adventures. Anyway, updated playlist! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3jlH2xpJOlKbjG57QsmAGz?si=zD9nKMgAT6azIwR_M_cQEA
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's visited and viewed this story. It's always great seeing your kudos. Hope everyone has a good week and I'll see you next time.


	5. Going Through Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter covers some heavy topics surrounding the Scourge invasion and the Forsaken.

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

Izzy got stuck carrying the head. She wove together a net-like bag from spare bandages, wrapped the head in canvas, then tied the whole thing to her pack. They cleaned themselves up and left the armory behind. Desi happily carried her new axe and tested it on any packs of crusaders they came across. With the added power of the priestess, they fell faster and easier than before.

“What’s your name?” Izzy asked between kills.

“Why? We’re not friends.”

“True but unless you’d like me to come up with some very creative nicknames, I need to call you something.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Lenora. My name is Lenora Shadowsinger. I’m sorry for my rudeness.”

Izzy shrugged. “If my lover got kidnapped, I’d be more than a little snippy. I think you’re being very restrained.”

That got a weak chuckle out of her, as Izzy hoped. After another moment to rest they reached the church courtyard. The monolithic building soared above their heads, all white stone and clean lines. Scarlet and white banners hung from the walls in between stained glass windows. Izzy squinted and gasped. The carnage depicted in the beautiful designs featured many victims but the majority were Forsaken. There was even an image of Lady Sylvanas being burned at the stake. Ket snarled in Gutterspeak and Izzy wasn’t far behind. Her disgust morphed into anger.

“You know, burning this place to the ground might not be such a bad thing after all,” she growled.

“I don’t think that’s a proper use of the Light,” Lenora mused. “But I approve.” She glanced at her. “Priestess.”

Taking the hint for what it was, Izzy gave Lenora her name. They fought their way to the cathedral, unable to do more than shout warnings or maneuvers as they took down group after group. Blood stained the grass and gleamed like rubies in the light of the early morning sun. A chill lingered, a blessing to her overheated body. Izzy wiped her brow and the back of her neck as they made their way inside.

Just in time for morning mass.

Time blurred as Izzy slipped in and out of her healing trance. In between spells, she put her mace through its paces, bashing zealots left and right as they swarmed. The first acolyte to fall from a concave chest wound made the others hesitate, which meant easy pickings for the rest of them. Section by section they cleared the enormous church but with no sign of Gunnar, Mograine, or Whitemane.

Lenora seethed.

“We’ve been over this entire cesspit. Where have they hidden him?” She whirled on Lulu. “You’re the tracker, can’t you find him?”

“Been trying but we been having more to worry about, and you’re no good to him dead,” Lulu snapped.

Desi whistled under her breath and Izzy didn’t blame her. Of their group, Lulu always remained the calmest. She never got snippy when teaching her or even when she missed a kill shot. Izzy hurried over and tucked herself into Lulu’s side to give her a tight hug. Under her arms, tension bled from the hunter and Lulu sighed.

“Ah, I’m fine Izzy girl.” She patted her head with a small smile. “Thank you for worrying but it be nothing.”

“I’m the healer and I say otherwise now shush and accept your treatment.” Izzy stuck her nose in the air and grinned.

Lulu chuckled and muttered something Izzy didn’t understand before hugging her back. And lifted her off the ground. Izzy squeaked. The others laughed. She huffed but giggled at the gentle teasing before Lulu set her down again. Izzy’s palms slid down her arms and brushed over downy fur, soft and ticklish. Her eyes widened slightly.

“I had no idea trolls had fur.”

“Not really something other folk get close enough to find out.” Lulu shrugged and winked at her.

Izzy’s face heated and she yanked her hands away. “Everything’s dead. Think you can track them now?”

Lulu nodded and her eyes glowed. She looked left, then right, and frowned before heading to the wall behind the altar. Aan’ten and Desi followed her while Zae and Ket stood together and whispered. Confident they’d be fine, Izzy went back to Lenora and after a hesitant touch, which Lenora nodded to, gave her a quick hug.

“We’ll find him.”

The slender woman trembled in her arms. Her fingers dug into Izzy’s robe and twisted, as if she was the only thing keeping her grounded. Izzy rubbed soothing circles on her back and waited. After a while, Lenora let go and stepped back. She brushed her damp cheeks with the backs of her fingers and smiled her thanks. They rejoined the others as Lulu swore and smacked the wall.

“Two humans. Has to be the ones we want but I can’t find the switch that opens the room.”

“Step aside,” Ket grunted and pushed his way through.

They searched. Tapped bricks and checked for levers until Izzy wondered if Lulu’s tracking spell was off. Ket snarled something under his breath and slammed his fist against the wall. Something cracked. Clicked. Metallic screeches came from turning gears as a door started to open. They rushed back, Desi on point, Aan’ten and the voidwalker on either side as a tall, muscled man stepped out.

Renault Mograine, the Scarlet Champion, raked his eyes over their assembled group and sneered. “So the unclean have entered this most sacred domain. Surrender and you may be cleansed by our holy priestess.”

“The only thing holey about her is her underwear,” Izzy declared, then snapped her mouth shut.

Mograine's face turned red. An excellent complement to his tabard. “Infidel! You shall be purged!”

And he charged.

Mograine's mace blurred through the air. Izzy cast a shield and ducked. She smashed her mace against his knee but he didn’t do more than stumble. He raised his much larger weapon again and brought it down. Someone shoved Izzy. She rolled into a kneel and flinched when Mograine’s strike clashed against Desi’s shield.

“Come on then, big man, I thought you were going to purge me,” Desi taunted.

It worked. He roared and struck her harder. Faster. His mace swung wide in a loop before he brought it back down on her shield. Bolts of magic and arrows flew. With only one opponent to worry about, Izzy didn’t slip into her healing trance. Instead, she kept her focus on Desi, dispelled the effects of Mograine’s spells, and bashed him whenever she got the chance. Ket stabbed and danced back, cackling madly as he slowly bled the paladin. With them attacking on all sides, it didn’t take long for Mograine to fall.

As soon as he hit the floor, a clear, strident voice rang out. “Mograine has fallen? You shall pay for this with your lives!”

Sally Whitemane appeared, staff blazing with holy Light, and spells on her lips. Desi intercepted her and she shrieked with outrage. They attacked again and managed to get through her shield. But before they could kill her, everything went black. Just as fast, Izzy snapped back to consciousness and stumbled. Her head swam like it did when she got up too fast after a quick nap. Desi shouted.

“That fucking witch.”

“My champion arises,” Whitemane declared, lips curved in a smug smirk.

“At your side, milady.” Mograine stepped in front of her, mace in both hands, as the Light faded around him.

Reeling from the brief sleep spell, they lost precious seconds and Mograine smashed Desi aside like a doll. Aan’ten and the voidwalker raced in. Izzy ran to Desi’s side. The plate armor absorbed most of the blow but there was still a deep dimple from the impact. She healed her fast and got her back on her feet. With a roar, Desi charged back in. Izzy turned her attention to Whitemane.

“Lenora, help me take that bitch down.”

The two of them attacked, Lenora with her spells and Izzy with her mace. Whitemane’s spells lanced through the air. Izzy ducked. Shielded. Her world narrowed to the enemy priestess. To the perfect places to strike. Knee. Hip. Shoulder. Whitemane blocked most of her attacks but not all. Her staff dropped. She screamed, arm limp and shoulder so much meat after Izzy’s hit. Migraine shouted for his priestess but Desi and Aan’ten stopped him from going to her side. Izzy swung her weapon in a wide arc for the final blow.

“Izzy girl! Heals! I need heals!”

She snapped back around. Lulu lay on the steps leading to the altar, a hand over her side. While Desi’s plate armor had protected her from the blows, Lulu’s mail and leather weren’t nearly as strong. She rushed to the fallen troll’s side and sank deep into her healing trance. Whitemane screamed. Izzy silently congratulated Lenora as she worked to heal her friend. The blood slowed. The wound knitted. Slowly. Too slowly. Whitemane screamed again and again until she fell silent.

Mograine’s scream echoed into the church rafters, despair and rage resounding through the cathedral.

More blows. More fighting. Izzy got Lulu back on her feet and staggered. She popped the cork of a mana potion and drank. With weapons in either hand, she rejoined the fight. Desi blazed with Light. Brilliant wings of Light erupted from her back as she hacked and blocked. Izzy healed the others, noting with relief that Zae and Ket didn’t require strong spells to keep them fighting. She shifted her focus as her mana dropped. Small spells. Just enough to keep them up. She shot her wand again and again. Desi pressed her advantage and forced Mograine to a kneel. He stiffened. His hate-filled glare remained frozen on his face as his head thudded and rolled down the altar dais.

The corpse twitched and fell, blood spurting over the stairs, and a pair of knives in its back.

Izzy collapsed, panting hard. Sweat dripped into her eyes and onto the floor. Fatigue dragged at her, threatened to pull her into sweet, welcome blackness. More thuds. She forced her eyes up. Desi sprawled on her back, away from the blood, and groaned softly. Lulu and Lenora were also on the ground, both winded from the fight. She looked around. Ket knelt over Whitemane’s corpse and for a moment she thought he was going to eat it. But then her stomach sank when she saw him strip her of her hat, necklace, and weapon. All things Izzy could have used.

“Ket, what - what are you doing? Stop.” She tried to push herself up but her arms gave out. “You can’t use those.”

“No, no I can’t,” he agreed and pocketed the necklace. “But I know plenty of adventurers who can.”

Her blood froze. “You - what about - ?”

“Zae, ready to go?” Ket stood up, having picked her corpse clean.

“Just give me a hand with this shield.” Zae tugged on a piece of armor from the back room. “Otherwise I think that’s everything.”

“What the fel are you doing?” Desi demanded. “We had a deal.”

Ket hefted the shield and slung it over his back. He staggered a bit from the weight but stayed upright. Izzy’s mouth fell open when he took out his hearthstone and activated the runes. Zae glanced down at them and shrugged.

“We’ve had enough adventure for today. Thank you for your efforts but we’ll be taking our payment and leaving.”

“Your payment?” Izzy spat and reached for her wand. “I’ll show you payment you fucking bastard.”

His refined, silky laugh clashed with the ugly sneer on his face. “How disappointing. Of course I expected a Sunseeker to be all brawn and no brain but such a performance from an Ambershield? The court gossips will rejoice at hearing they were right. How the mighty have fallen.”

She froze. Felwhisper. There wasn’t a family named Felwhisper in the Sun Court. Unless - she gasped.

“Zae’lan Flamewhisper.”

The second son of the Flamewhisper family. One who tried to court her ages back but she refused his suit. Minn’da made rigorous demands of her healers-in-training. Not even her own daughter received leeway while an apprentice. She thought they parted amicably but it had been years. At least a dozen. Her hands balled into fists.

“You pathetic ass,” she snarled.

“My dear, I’m not the one in the middle of a cathedral on enemy grounds struggling just to stand up. Good luck getting out without the two of us.” He waved his fingers at her and disappeared.

Izzy fumed. Shrieked and pounded her fists on the floor. “I knew it, I fucking _knew_ something felt off about that asshole.”

“You know him?” Desi demanded.

“He tried to court me once. I said no. I thought that was the end of it. Fucking men and their wounded pride.”

Lulu grumbled under her breath. It might have been an agreement but since it was in her native language, Izzy couldn’t tell. Desi slapped a hand over her face. Embarrassment flooded her and she tried to shift the topic to something else.

“We still need to find Gunnar. And we all have hearthstones. We may not have any loot but we’ll still have the reward from the Dark Lady.” Izzy pushed herself up into a kneel with a groan. “And we can blacklist those two.”

“Some won’t care,” Lulu pointed out.

“It’ll make me feel better.”

With that, they got themselves together and continued the search for Gunnar. Lulu’s eyes glowed from her tracking spell and she paced the length and breadth of the cathedral. A few times she swore. Aan’ten remained at her side, tail twitching as he picked up on her agitation. Lenora ate and drank but her knee jiggled as they waited. Izzy drank deeply. Even though it was lukewarm, the juice still felt divine on her parched throat. Lulu disappeared into a small chamber on the right side of the chapel, far from the altar.

“Aha! Found it!”

Lenora rushed over, food scattering at her feet. Izzy helped Desi up and they followed. More gears clanked and ground as a section of wall moved away and revealed a set of stairs. Lenora rushed ahead.

“Wait! Damnit, woman, you aren’t the tank,” Desi scolded, voice echoing as she chased after her. “Get down!”

“I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Izzy raced down, Lulu on her heels. Lenora stood in front of a large Forsaken man who knelt, chained, on the floor. His clothes hung in tatters and his deadlights glowed dim and cloudy. A dark purple aura flowed around the other priestess. Writhing shapes, like tentacles, formed at her feet, which hovered several inches off the floor. A dark shape threw off her spells and Izzy gasped.

A forsaken man, draped in the crimson and white of the Crusade, snarled and cast at the hovering priestess.

“Holy shit.” Desi stunned him with her hammer spell. “What the fel is a forsaken doing working for the crusade?”

“Questions later, kill him now,” Lulu called from the top of the stairs and an arrow whizzed past them. “Damn tunnels.”

They snapped out of their stupor and joined Lenora in the fight. She pelted the inquisitor with spell after spell while Desi kept him distracted. Izzy moved to heal Gunnar but a hand on her wrist stopped her. The shadowy forms and aura dissipated and Lenora lowered herself to the floor. She shook her head but kept casting. Izzy followed her lead. Together, they ended the inquisitor and sent him to his final death.

Sadly, he carried nothing of value.

The victory tasted bittersweet. While they eliminated the top ranks of the Scarlet Crusade and completed the Dark Lady’s mission, they had little to show for it. Desi was the only one who obtained any loot worth mentioning. Izzy balled her hands into fists and slumped against the wall. All their work. All the hours lost and close calls for next to nothing. Just a couple of heads and a slew of new injuries. She scowled.

“If I ever see that bastard again, I’ll smash his fucking face in,” Izzy vowed.

“Now that I’d pay to see.” Desi sighed and sat on the steps. “At least we managed to get Whitemane and Mograine. Not like that’s much.”

Izzy tilted her head, smiled, and nodded in another direction. “It does to them.”

Lenora clung to Gunnar, sobbing softly into his shoulder as dark shadows wrapped around him and healed his wounds. His eyes gleamed brighter the more she fed him her shadow magic until he was able to lift his head and bury it in her neck. Izzy’s heart softened. While she didn’t have any loot to show for her efforts, she made a new friend and saved a good man. Desi cleared her throat to get their attention but only Lenora looked up. Her hands tightened in his tattered shirt.

“I’m not going to hurt him but I think he’ll feel a lot better once he’s out of those chains.” Desi stood up and hefted her axe.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

It took a few swings but they managed to free Gunnar. He wrapped his arms around Lenora and cradled her close, murmuring into her neck as he kissed her. She sniffled and whispered back, kissing his head and stroking his auburn hair. Izzy smiled at the tender scene and tugged on Desi’s tabard. At the paladin’s questioning look, she nodded at the stairs, and Desi flushed. They left the lovers to their reunion and rejoined Lulu upstairs.

“They really are in love.” Desi kept glancing back at the stairs. “I’ll be damned.”

“I don’t see why they couldn’t be.” Izzy headed back out to the chapel and felt in her pack for more bandages. “It was really sweet watching them together.”

“But he - he’s dead.”

“Undead,” Lulu corrected as she tended Aan’ten’s wounds.

“Undead, whatever. Isn’t he like - a corpse?” she whispered that last part.

Izzy rolled her eyes. “Paladins.” She gestured to Whitemane’s body. “Will you take care of that please? I need to wrap up Mograine.”

“Fine but what’s wrong with paladins?”

She didn’t really want to give a lecture but better a lecture than Desi putting her foot in it when Gunnar and Lenora rejoined them. Once she carefully wrapped Mograine’s head in canvas, she started putting together another bag.

“Forsaken bodies are corpses but they’re ones raised by magic. It preserves their bodies and tethers their souls. They can still be damaged or decay from outside influences but they don’t deteriorate just by existing. It’s why they have fleshworkers and such. New arm, new leg, patches of skin or muscle need replacing? It’s all general upkeep. Just like the living.” Izzy finished the net and slid the head inside before tying it closed. “They’re their own species. They’ve evolved. Most paladins, fuck most people, see Forsaken as little more than Scourge when they’re fundamentally different.”

Desi cocked a brow at her. “That’s a rather enlightened view for a priestess.”

“I’m a healer. I keep an open mind. If I saw the world in shades of black and white, I’d be no better than her.” She jerked her head in Whitemane’s direction. “Forsaken and sin’dorei are more alike than others think.”

“I’ve never thought about eating someone,” Desi protested.

Izzy’s eyes narrowed. “No but you’ve thought about eating meat.”

“That’s hardly the same.”

“And you’ve thought about consuming arcane magic. You're addicted to it just like the rest of us.” Izzy crossed her arms over her chest.

“How does that even matter?”

“You’re trying to other the Forsaken, calling them corpses, treating them like unfeeling monsters, when sin’dorei are just a few arcane crystals away from deteriorating into Wretched.” Izzy’s anger flared. “He’s a person, and you’d have to be completely blind to miss how much he cares about her.”

“The Scourge wiped out our home,” Desi thundered back. “Our people, our families. Just because they somehow got their free will back doesn’t mean their atrocities were magically erased.”

“They didn’t choose to become undead. Arthas murdered, tortured, and raised them the same way he did with our people when he sacked Silvermoon. How can you overlook that?”

“Because they killed my grandmother!” Desi screamed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “They killed the only family I gave a fuck about. And then I had to watch her rise and slaughter my little brothers and sister. The Forsaken were Scourge and the Scourge were the reason we were almost wiped off of Azeroth. How can they feel anything like love?”

Izzy took a breath. Released it. It shuddered from how badly she shook. How her emotions gripped her by the throat. Desi’s views weren’t uncommon. Many of the surviving sin’dorei had to kill former loved ones after they rose as Scourge. Her own mother had to kill her father. Most of the Forsaken only had pain and suffering left after being rejected by the living. It made them angry. Resentful. Rightly so. But they all suffered under the Lich King. She went over to the paladin and squeezed her shoulder. Desi looked away. A soft cough came from behind. Izzy turned. Lenora and Gunnar stood just outside the entrance to the antechamber, his arm draped over her shoulders, her expression remained neutral. The muscles under Izzy’s hand tensed and she let go.

“I’m sorry,” Izzy said.

Gunnar shook his head. “Don’t be.” His voice cracked and rasped. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. Won’t be the last.”

Desi turned away, refusing to look at any of them. “I’m not saying you didn’t suffer. I just can’t forget what happened.”

Gunnar’s arm tightened around Lenora. “Neither can we.” He shifted. “Perhaps we should leave.”

Izzy nodded, as did Lulu and Desi, even though the paladin continued to sulk and avoid them. Lenora handed a pack to Gunnar and their fingers brushed. They double checked the heads and activated their hearthstones. When the blue light faded, humidity hit her square in the face and she reeled.

“What the fel?” Then she remembered and groaned. “Seriously? What deity did I offend today?”

She pulled out a thin chain with her messenger stone on it and whispered a message to Lulu. The stone flared purple for a moment before fading. She held it to her ear and waited. Moments later, a whisper came through. Lulu and the others made it to the Undercity and were in the midst of presenting their spoils to Lady Sylvanas. She stepped into the muggy air of Booty Bay and booked a flight to Grom’gol. From there she took the zeppelin north and thanked the Titans she wasn’t further away. Like on Kalimdor. By the time she reached the inn at Brill, it was mid afternoon.

Cursing her luck, Izzy ran for the city.

After stumbling her way down the narrow corridors and avoiding death via elevator, Izzy made it into the heart of the city. She leaped down the central stairs and dashed for the Royal Quarter. Izzy wheezed out the reason for her visit and hurried past the Dark Rangers. She slowed to a walk to catch her breath and brushed loose curls out of her face before she entered the throne room. The four of them stood before Varimathras as the dreadlord handed them small pouches of coins. She rushed up the dais to join them.

“Forgive my lateness. My hearthstone took me back to Booty Bay rather than Brill.” She bowed and slung her bag off her shoulders. “I have one more trophy to present. The head of Champion Herod of the Scarlet Crusade.”

She untied the netted sack and held it out for Varimathras. He confirmed its contents with a nod before handing it off to a servant. The room echoed without the presence of its queen. Empty. Hollow. While part of her sagged with relief, another part of Izzy wanted to see her and her reaction to their success. It was far beyond what they originally aimed for even if they didn’t have armor or weapons to show for it.

“Your efforts shall be commended and recognized by all of Undercity,” Varimathras drawled and waved his hand. “You’re dismissed.”

With that, they left. Izzy scowled briefly but reasoned that it was too soon. She hadn’t done nearly enough to prove herself. She keyed Lenora into her communication stone and said goodbye. Gunnar leaned heavily on the petite priestess as they made their way to the war quarter. The barracks housed numerous soldiers, city guards and adventurers alike, and Izzy hoped they’d get a chance to rest and reconnect.

Desi cleared her throat and smiled. “That was quite an adventure.” She glanced at Lulu. “What now?”

Lulu stroked Aan’ten in silent thought. The big cat lounged at her feet, tail flicking, and rumbling up a storm. Desi avoided looking at Izzy and it rankled. Their argument hung like poison gas between them. Izzy massaged her head and rolled her neck. More than anything, she wanted a hot bath, food, and sleep. In that order. The quest into the monastery took the majority of the day. Counting the zeppelin trip back, most of the day was gone. As tired as she was though, she couldn’t leave the air to fester.

“I think we should talk before anything else.” Izzy summoned Sethy and stroked his feathered neck. “But not here.”

She swung up into the saddle. Desi and Lulu followed suit. Once mounted, they rode from the Undercity to a copse of trees by the lake outside of Brill. Separated but other adventurers and passers-by but still close enough to the town that fewer beasts roamed the area. Izzy nodded.

“This is good enough.” Izzy slowed and stopped, turning Sethy so she faced Desi. “Your views on Forsaken bother me. More than that. They infuriate me. You sounded like every other Light-addled priest or paladin I’ve ever met.”

Desi flinched and her mouth twisted. “And your views confuse me. Fel, it makes me mad, too. You’re a priest. The Light blesses you with its power. Yet you blaspheme against it and profane yourself by championing the undead.”

“The Light is a tool. Its religion is nothing but Tauren shit.”

“How can you say that?” Desi reared back in shock. “You wouldn’t be able to heal if it wasn’t for the Light.”

Izzy shrugged. “I don’t know, Lenora managed fine. I may have to study her methods someday.”

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“Why?” Izzy snapped, power crackling around her.

“Because she - she - she’s turned her back on the Light. She uses the shadows and consorts with the undead.”

“Oh so she’s tainted.”

“Stop putting fucking words in my mouth,” Desi shouted.

“Enough!” Lulu’s voice cracked between them. “Neither of you be able to accept the other’s thoughts. So you gotta decide whatcha gonna do now. Can you continue traveling and working together or no?”

Izzy stared hard at Desi. The other woman sat tall in the saddle but frustration and anger scored dark furrows on her face. No quarter from her. She sighed. Even though it hurt, she inclined her head.

“I think it’s time I set off on my own again. You both have taught me so much and I’ll forever be grateful for your friendship but I can’t stay. It’s not fair to any of us.” She took a shuddering breath and willed back the tears. “But I hope we’ll meet again. Keep in touch, won’t you?”

Lulu nodded, a sad smile touching her lips. “It was good to have you, Izzy girl. Have one last adventure. Be safe, yah?”

Izzy guided Sethy over and leaned in to give Lulu a tight hug. When they separated, her gaze landed on Desi, who sniffed. She nudged her strider over until they were close enough to touch.

“I’m sorry,” Desi said and rubbed her arm. “You’ve been a great friend. I just can’t help how I feel.”

“I know.” Izzy extended her hand and they shook. “I don’t expect you to change your feelings. I just hope you learn empathy someday.” She cast blessings over them both before riding away.

Back to Silvermoon.

While the Wayfarer’s Rest Tavern wasn’t as large or popular as the Silvermoon Inn, it still carried every comfort a traveller could want. Stars gleamed above as Izzy checked in and paid for two nights. After a long, hot bath and an amazingly flavorful dinner, she slid between the cool silk sheets and pulled the thin, embroidered coverlet up to her waist. Gentle, chilly night air wafted through the room along with the occasional comings and goings of folk in the Bazaar below. She sipped her tea and wrote while breathing in the sweet scent of roses in the window box. When she slept, she dreamed of glowing red eyes and the most delicate brush of cool fingers against her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not clear, I have a lot of feelings about both the Sin'dorei and the Forsaken. I recently read "Paragons" and the short story about the fall of Silvermoon and the formation of the Blood Knights. There really are a lot of similarities between sin'dorei and forsaken that they don't want to admit but there's also stark differences. A few notes:
> 
> -In the verse I'm building, Forsaken cannibalize to replenish their energy and regenerate their bodies, the same way a living person would eat regular food. It's about the only thing they can really taste that gives any satisfaction and some may indulge more than others. Those that don't tend to be a lot weaker in terms of physical strength, the same way someone with access to good food is healthier than someone who doesn't.
> 
> -M'uru is indeed captured by this point and Desi's having the clashy, ringing headaches, which is why things got so heated between her and Izzy. M'uru's moralistic whispers clashing with her feelings about commanding the Light.
> 
> -Izzy feels the same way about the Light that the Blood Knights do. She feels it abandoned her people when they needed it most and so she's got every right to demand recompense. But she also refuses to cooperate in enslavement out of respect for what Sylvanas, the Forsaken, Lo'Gosh, and others have went through.
> 
> But that's all for this week. Next week's chapter is in the works and thank you again to everyone who's read/left kudos/bookmarked this story. The playlist has been updated to include the new song and I've already got next week's all lined up. It's one of my faves. Hope everyone stays safe and sane and I'll see you next week!


	6. But Still, I Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

She planned to only stay a day in Silvermoon. Maybe two, if work on her armor took longer. But those plans derailed while out in the Bazaar. Izzy left the auction house empty handed after checking the prices of different armor pieces only to run into a swarm of children laughing and darting about the square under the eye of several minders. She froze. If the children were out, then that meant -

“Priestess Ambershield. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Izzy put on a smile and turned. “Mel, lovely as always. The little monsters haven’t got you going grey yet.”

“Flirt.” Mellandre blushed and waved away the comment. “It’s good to see you. You’ve been gone so long, they started to worry.”

“I know. I just,” Izzy trailed off and shrugged. “How are they?”

The matron smirked. “Why not see for yourself?”

She beckoned a small group who hovered on the outside of the group. Four young elves rushed over. All of them painfully familiar and yet not the same as the last time they met. Izzy’s smile softened, became real, as they greeted her with hugs. She checked them over as they came close. A habit she didn’t think she’d ever be able to break. Not with them. Assured they were all well, she draped an arm around the smallest child who clung to her waist.

“Doral ana’diel?” she asked, looking at each of them.

A chorus of answers rose as each fought to tell her about things first. She shifted on her feet and managed to keep smiling as they recounted everything they had done since they last saw her. Izzy could never think of what to say beyond general inquiries about their health and comments about the things they did. While she swelled with pride that they’d come so far in five years, it couldn’t erase the guilt and dark memories that welled whenever she saw their faces. And the faces of all those she couldn’t save.

A fight between the younger orphans called the three oldest away. Only Fia remained attached to her waist.

She glanced down at the pale wisp of a girl and patted her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to go play?”

Fia shook her head.

Izzy hid a sigh. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. “Do you want to sit down?”

She nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go find a bench.” She waved to Mel and pointed to Fia.

The head matron nodded and turned her attention back to the fight. Little hands tugged at her shirt and she glanced down. Fia held her arms up, green eyes silent and pleading. Her heart twisted. Those eyes had been blue once. Blue and almost too big for the tiny, toddler face with soft, downy curls. Without thinking, Izzy scooped Fia up in her arms and hugged her close like she had five years ago. She walked them towards a bench and settled down, still keeping Fia safe in her arms. Skinny arms wrapped around her neck and held on tight. Like before. But she wasn’t choking. She was safe.

They both were.

But she couldn’t stop memories from pulling her under and closing over her head like the dark sea.

Three ships sailed from Silvermoon the day it fell. Not days or even hours before but the very moment Arthas stormed their city. She’d begged. Pleaded. Argued. They couldn’t risk Silvermoon’s future. Better to be cautious. If Arthas could murder Lady Sylvanas and twist her soul into a banshee, if he could get so far into their home, he could breech the city. But a priestess fresh from acolyte training had no status. No power. Regardless of her last name or how sound her arguments were. She remembered anger. So much anger and helplessness as they sailed away and bats swarmed the city.

After that, her memories blurred. All she could recall was the desperation, the terror, and the bittersweet vindication.

Fel fire. Acrid smoke. The world lurching and pitching under her feet.

Screams. All of them young.

Cold, dark water. A weight on her chest as she struggled to swim, to levitate, to reach the all-too-distant shore.

Four children. Out of hundreds. Guilt and sorrow strangled her and tears flowed down her cheeks as she held Fia tightly. Fia had been among the youngest. The weakest. After the disaster, the toddler completely shut down. She hadn’t spoken in five years. She didn’t make noise even when she cried. It broke Izzy’s heart every time she saw them.

So she stayed away.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, stroking Fia’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Sorry she couldn’t save more. That she’d been so weak. That she didn’t visit more. As happy as she was that the four children she managed to save had grown and lived and all had bright futures ahead of them, she couldn’t look at them and not see the faces of the hundreds she left behind. It’s why she had to become stronger. So that next time, she could make people listen. Her words would carry weight someday.

She just had to work harder.

“Izzy?”

Mel’s soft voice called her back and she tipped her head up. The matron’s brow creased with concern. She sat next to them and checked Fia, who lay against Izzy’s chest, eyes teary and fingers buried in her shirt, fast asleep.

“Thank the Light.”

Izzy hummed in question.

“She’s having night terrors again. We’ve consulted with a mind healer but they haven’t been able to do much since she won’t speak.”

“Ah.” Izzy rubbed Fia’s back. “Have you tried singing to her?”

“We have. The only thing that works is if one of us stays with her. If she has someone to cling to, she sleeps. We tried stuffed toys but - ”

“She needs to hear the heartbeat,” Izzy finished with a nod. “I held her just like this, you know, when I pulled them all to shore. Secured her in the folds of my robe with her arms around my neck. She didn’t leave my side until we managed to make it back to Silvermoon. None of them did.”

“So that’s why. I wondered.” Mel hesitated. “You never told us exactly what happened with the rescue.”

She shrugged. “I barely remember it. Probably for the best. I can’t afford to freeze on the battlefield. Or worse.”

“I see.” They sat in silence for a while and watched the children run around. “You’re their hero, you know. All of them are talking about becoming priests or blood knights when they get older. I’ve been trying to talk them out of the path of a blood knight but Caeith and Kalaris are proving stubborn.”

Izzy chuckled. “That’s pretty much a requirement, based on the paladins I’ve met.” She chewed on her lower lip. “There are exercises they can do. All of them, not just those who want to be paladins. They need to build their endurance and stamina.”

“Will you teach them? The children would love it.”

“I...planned to leave before nightfall. The world won’t save itself,” she joked but it fell flat. She glanced down at the sleeping Fia. “I should get going, actually. My armor should be repaired by now.”

“Izzy - ”

“Thank you for taking such good care of them.” Izzy pulled out the coin pouch she’d planned to spend at the auction house and pressed it into Mel’s hands. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Mel shook her head, hands trembling around the coins. “You could do so much more if you’d just let yourself.”

She didn’t want to fight. Not in front of the little ones. Not with Fia still sleeping in her arms. So she said nothing. Mel was right. Izzy knew she could do more. She could stay, teach the children herself, tuck Fia into bed the way minn’da used to do for her, but it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t erase her mistakes or bring back those lost. Her mind healer tried to teach her to be more forgiving of herself. Compassionate. That she did the best she could at the time and she still made a difference.

But she couldn’t make herself believe it.

“I’ll try and drop in the next time I’m in Silvermoon.” She gently removed Fia’s arms from her neck and passed the sleeping child to Mel. “Take care of yourself, you hear? These kids are crazy.”

Before Mel could say anything else, Izzy shot to her feet, waved goodbye to the others, and trekked back to the inn. Exhaustion tugged at her but if she slept she was bound to have dreams of that day. Better to keep working. Keep moving. She didn’t know where she’d go, didn’t have any kind of plan, but every instinct screamed at her to leave. It didn’t matter where. She just had to get away from the memories. She packed, settled her bill, retrieved her armor, and once more rode away from Silvermoon.

Time passed. After a month-long campaign in the Temple of Hakkar, she journeyed to Revantusk for some simple, straight-forward killing. Jintha'Alor still crawled with trolls no matter how many times adventurers were tasked with clearing it out. Frost covered the ground in the morning and the sun didn’t stay up beyond mid afternoon but it was a fresh, clean environment after the damp, rot, and humidity of the temple.

She shuffled down the outdoor stairs that led from the rooms above to the main lodge, blowing warm air into her hands. When she ducked into the lodge she giggled softly. Lard, the ogre innkeeper, lay next to the banked fireplace, snoring away under a pile of furs and leather coverings. Thankfully the inn didn’t have glass windows or he would have rattled them out of their frames. She stepped out to a few sleepy guards and the pearly grey of pre-dawn. They nodded at her, familiar with her routine, as she jogged down the beach.

After doing the exercises for so long it became easier to wake before dawn. Even if she’d kill to be able to sleep in for once.

Izzy went through her combat dances, using a thick piece of driftwood as a stand in for her mace, then her cooldown stretches, and jogged back to the inn. More guards patrolled as the sun crested the horizon and the first adventurers started stumbling down. Lard, awake but bleary-eyed, grunted at her.

“Message for bashy-healer.”

“Thanks Lard.” She tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “It’s still pretty chilly out, better wrap up.”

Once she got the folds tucked under his arms in a way that wouldn’t fall down immediately, she turned to head back upstairs. His snores followed her. Inside her room lay a few letters, including one with an official Undercity seal. She cracked that open first and skimmed the missive. A recruitment request on behalf of the Argent Dawn down in the Plaguelands. She tapped her lips with the envelope as she considered her options. While she liked the Hinterlands well enough, finding enough people to group with to take on Jintha’alor could be a pain in the ass. And she couldn’t take on the troll city alone, not even with her more powerful armor and weapons.

“Maybe a change of scenery would do me good.”

Despite months of wandering up and down the Eastern Kingdom, Izzy hadn’t ventured into the Plaguelands. With both the Scholomance in the west and Stratholme in the east, there was no end to the amount of Scourge that roamed. Combining that with the Scarlet Crusade and all of the dangers of the plague-ridden animals, it felt like the logical next step in her journey. She grinned and packed, making a note to read her other letters once she found the next place to stay.

As soon as she settled her balance and checked out, she chartered a flight to the Undercity and rode from there to the Bulwark. Commission bought and work acquired, Izzy made her way into the Western Plaguelands. That was her routine for the next few weeks: take down packs of Scourge, turn in stones to the Argent Dawn, rest at the inn in Brill, and repeat. When she didn’t have new orders, she roamed the Western Plaguelands smashing through any Scourge she found.

A lucky drop in the Hinterlands got her a hammer-like mace known as Heaven’s Light. The flat head made bashing skulls a breeze and the wicked, curved spike on the other end pierced plate armor like a needle through cloth. She loved it. Except when zombie brains splattered all over her weapon, her arm, and her face.

“Of course,” she groaned and tramped her way to the Thondroril River. “Thank the Titans none of that got in my mouth.”

She knelt on the bank and trailed her fingers through the water then promptly jerked them back with a yelp. The cold water stung and she tucked her hands under her arms. Still wasn’t as bad as the Hinterlands though. No frost on the ground in the mornings. The Plaguelands were further north than the Hinterlands but the climate wasn’t as cold due to the plague cauldrons and general decay of the area. She glanced at the sky and swore. Almost dark. She should ride back to Brill. Or the Undercity. The only way she’d willingly camp in the Plaguelands is if she had a death wish.

The growls of Scourge and howls of plaguehounds rose in chorus in agreement with her thought.

She stretched and winced as cracks and pops peppered her body before starting on her right wrist. The bracers she wore helped but wielding a heavy mace still put a lot of strain on it. She adjusted her bracer, rolled her wrist, and massaged the muscles and tendons before refastening it. As she debated her options, something orange and gold flickered in the corner of her eye. From across the river. She craned her head and her eyes widened.

“A campfire? Out here?”

Who would be that crazy as to camp in what was essentially Scourge hunting grounds? Izzy grinned. Only one way to find out. Because whoever would do that sounded like her kind of crazy. She summoned Sethy and swung onto his back. He cawed in irritation and fluttered his wings.

“I know, I know, I’m the worst rider in existence. Just get me across the river and I won’t summon you for the next two days.”

He trilled in agreement and she stroked his neck feathers. After trotting back some distance, she turned and judged the jump. Sethy might get a bit wet, but that’s what two days of pampering in his stall was for. His toes scraped the dirt. Her hands flexed on the reins. She pressed her heels to his sides. He exploded across the terrain, head and neck lowered, and wings tight at his sides. Izzy pressed herself against his back. Wind whipped her braid and raked icy fingers over her exposed skin. Her teeth chattered. Her fingers cramped. But she held on as Sethy launched them into the air.

And splashed into the river.

He screeched and vanished in a puff of smoke, dumping Izzy into the water. Shocking cold shriveled her lungs. Her chest tightened and throbbed. Dark memory closed over her. She was drowning again. Pulled under by force of the sinking ships. She struggled, thrashed for the light that faded above her head, but paralysis stole over her body. So cold. Colder than the North Sea. She failed. Again. The current tugged her deeper. Sparks flashed in front of her eyes. Air. She needed air.

A hand clasped over hers and pulled.

Izzy broke the surface with a wet, gasping cry. Water streamed from her clothes and hair, into her eyes, her mouth, her nose, and she coughed until it hurt to breathe. She spat and trembled and spat some more, shocked to be alive as her instincts screamed to grab her weapon. But she couldn’t make her fingers move.

“Easy there, miss. You’re safe. Keep breathing.”

A man’s voice. Gruff. Scratchy. Like he’d shouted over the battlefield one too many times. She straightened and blinked through her tears and the water. A hermit in dirty leathers and a rather magnificent iron grey beard rubbed her back as she shook.

“That’s it. Come inside. That was quite a nasty fall.”

He guided her to a small cabin. Its windows glowed with warm golden light and smoke puffed from the chimney. A tiny barn stood close by. She wondered how he lived there without worrying about the Scourge or the local wildlife. The answer hummed over her as they crossed the boundary line. Wards. Holy ones, strong and layered. Probably anchored to stones buried deep on the property. Her shoulders slumped. Safe. Perhaps she could pay or barter for a chance to stay the night in the stables.

“C-c-could I - m-may-maybe - ”

“Calm yourself, sister. All those who walk in the Light are welcome in my home, such as it is.”

They entered the cabin. It only had one room but it was spacious, mostly due to the lack of furniture. A curtained off area probably had a bed. Two chairs stood near the hearth. A sparse kitchen with a wood burning stove sat in the far back. And that was it. Izzy dropped to her knees next to the fire and pulled off her cloak. She wrung it out away from the flames and poked it up a little to actually feel the heat.

“What brings a young woman to the edges of the Plaguelands so close to nightfall?” Her host settled into a chair draped with leathers but no cushions.

“I lost track of the time.” She stripped off her gloves and bracers and unlaced her outer robes. “Thank you for saving me. Is there a way I can repay you? I have coin or I could do some work for you.”

He stroked his beard. “I have a few chores in mind but they can be settled in the morning. You focus on getting warm.”

She thanked him again and looked around as she hung up her robe and cloak to dry. While there were jars of preserved food and smoked, dried meat hanging from the ceiling, the stove had some dust on it and an open cupboard revealed nothing but a spiderweb. She checked her packs and grinned.

“Then how about tonight I treat you to a meal? It’s the least I can do since I won’t be able to start chores until tomorrow.”

He smiled. “Well I wouldn’t say no to that. What’s your name, miss?”

“Izzy. And yours?”

A pause. “You can call me Tyr.”

There was a secret there but she wouldn’t push it. Not when he was being so kind. “Nice to meet you.”

With that, she removed her boots, peeled off her socks, and took her pack to the small cooking area. Thankfully she had everything she needed because Tyr’s cupboards were bare except for the basic tools needed to preserve food. In no time she had a fire going in the oven, a pie crust pre-baking, and ingredients mixed for the filling. A nice, heavy dish with root vegetables and thick gravy. Perfect for a cold autumn night. Although most elves considered it peasant fare, Izzy loved it. There was something so simple and filling about peasant food. Much more than any fancy feasts the nobles could concoct.

As she worked, they talked. He asked about the places she traveled and she told him about some of her adventures. She asked about the Argent Dawn. Tyr frowned for a moment but admitted they had good intentions to rid Azeroth of all evil. She toyed with the idea of asking him how he ended up out there but left it alone for the time being. Everyone had pasts. Some more intense than others.

“There we are.” She slid the filled and covered pie into the oven to bake and settled once more by the fire. “Tea or coffee?”

Pleased surprise showed on his face. “I haven’t had coffee in so long. Not since,” he trailed off then cleared his throat and stood. “Tea would be better for now as I would like to sleep soon and an old man’s constitution isn’t up to caffeine late at night. You should change into something dry while I step out for a moment. Excuse me.”

Izzy nodded, waited until he shut the door, then scrambled to change. She stripped herself to the skin, rubbed down with a bit of spare cloth, and dressed again in her warmest clothes. Once she found the tap, she filled her kettle with water and hung it in the center of the fire to boil. She wiggled her bare toes in front of the flames, enjoying the heat. By the time he returned, the kettle whistled.

“Which would you like? I have lemon, peppermint, and chamomile.”

He smiled. “Peppermint, please.”

She added the leaves to two mugs, filled them with water, and set them to steep on the table between the chairs. The mouth-watering, buttery smell of baking pie crust and rich gravy filled the small room and he groaned.

“I’m going to get spoiled,” he said and settled into his chair. “My wife wasn’t much of a cook, I’m afraid.”

“Did you lose her?”

His gaze sharpened. “Why would you ask that?”

Izzy used her sleeves to protect her hands as she cradled her mug close and breathed in the sharp, fresh scent. “Azeroth has been in a never-ending state of war for years. You sounded like you’ve been separated for a long time.”

Silence stretched. He finally murmured, “I have.”

They didn’t speak for a while. She sipped her tea and opened her letters from Lulu and Lenora. Her hands shook. Lulu and Desi had split. Lulu heard growing rumors of Gurubashi activity in Stranglethorn and had joined a group of trolls from her home village to try and find out what was going on. According to the tiny postscript from Desi, Lady Liadrin had called all the blood knights home to Silvermoon on a “royal” mission. They were both doing well but would miss each other as they did her. Lenora’s letter spoke of her and Gunnar venturing back into the world and storming a place known as Uldaman in the Badlands further south. She talked about how she picked up some of Izzy’s bad habits when it came to people insulting her and Gunnar and that made her smile.

“Good news from home?” Tyr asked.

“Not so much home as letters from good friends.” She told him a few bits of news before tucking the letters back into her pack. “I don’t really have a home to go back to.”

He frowned. “I believed Silvermoon to be reconstructed. Is that not the case?”

“It is, for the most part, but it’s not home. Not anymore. Too many memories.” She huffed a laugh. “The last time I went back was months ago and I couldn’t even promise I’d come back.”

“Someone waiting for you?”

She shrugged. “Sort of. Not really.”

Tyr hummed under his breath and they lapsed into silence again. “I would not presume to pry considering we just met, but if there is someone waiting for you, why not return and see about making it home again?”

Izzy shook her head. “It’s not that simple.” She chewed her lower lip. “You’ve seen battle, right?” At his slow nod, she continued. “There were probably people you couldn’t save. Choices made that you probably regret. I made choices I thought I’d never make as a healer. My mother tried to teach me otherwise but I didn’t listen. They call me a hero but I feel more like a failure.”

“Ah,” he drew the sound out in understanding. “You’re quite astute for one so young.”

She snickered as she sipped her tea. “I’m old enough to be your grandmother by human years.”

He coughed. “Of course. My apologies.” He paused. “How - ”

“Rude. Don’t ask a lady her age,” she teased.

His embarrassed flush made her laugh and the two of them settled into easier conversation. Tales of family and old friends, people they met, and even debates on the Light. By the time they finished their tea and pie (he ate most of it but Izzy didn’t mind), her eyes started drooping. She yawned and stretched. The good food, warm fire, and company soothed parts of her she didn’t know needed it.

“I must concur.” Tyr set aside his cup and groaned as he stood. His joints cracked and popped. “Forgive me, the cold weather is harsh on these bones.”

“Nothing to forgive.” A thought occurred and she rummaged through her packs to pull out a small stone jar. “Here. For the chillbanes. Rub it into your hands, knees, anywhere that aches in the cold. It’ll help.”

He stared at the jar for a long moment before he hesitantly reached out and accepted the gift. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since…”

He didn’t finish but he didn’t need to. Izzy gathered the dirty plates and rinsed them before letting them sit until tomorrow. Tyr retreated behind the curtains to his bed while she unrolled her sleeping mat and banked the fire. Even if the logs were enchanted it was better to be safe than sorry. Her thick pad felt like heaven and her heavy blankets trapped the fading heat until she was as warm as a caterpillar wrapped in its warm, cozy cocoon.

“Goodnight Tyr. Thank you for letting me stay.”

A pause. “Goodnight Izzy.”

The mattress creaked and he sighed as he settled. Izzy’s eyes drifted closed and she fell asleep wondering what Tyr would ask of her come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever had a chapter that just…didn't want to be written? That was this chapter for me, haha. Thankfully I managed to finish it on time because the last thing I want is to be late on my upload schedule. You guys have been amazing, leaving kudos and just dropping in to read Izzy's story, and I thank you all so much.
> 
> The Classic/Vanilla arc is getting longer than I anticipated but I've still got plenty ahead for Izzy and friends.
> 
> Today's chapter was inspired by Katy Perry's song, "Rise." I know her song "Roar" is much more well-known as a "rawr, fight!" song but I just liked the message of "Rise" better and the music video was what really sold it for me.
> 
> Thanks for reading guys and I'll see you next week!


	7. You Chose Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’thalas**

Izzy stared at Tyr over a breakfast of curiously tasty omelettes (whoever named the recipe deserved a medal) with her cup halfway to her mouth. Her ginger tea woke her up on even the coldest mornings but the chilly, pearly-grey predawn air must have tranquilized her thoughts. She set her cup down.

“You’re not serious.”

“Winters are long and my supplies are running low. I’ll make use of every ounce,” he assured her.

“A hundred pounds. Of worm meat. _Worm_ meat, Tyr.” She pushed her plate towards him, her stomach sour. “Here. I can’t eat this if you’re going to have nothing but grub meat all winter.”

He chuckled and cut another piece of his omelette. “Far be it for me to say no to more of your cooking. But to the matter of the meat, you did agree to do chores.”

She huffed. “I made you dinner, breakfast, and mended the shoulder seams of your shirts. Do you gnaw on them or something?”

“All of which was very kind but not the chores I asked of you.”

Groaning, she stood and stretched. “Fine. Just don’t ask me to cook it. That’s your job.” She smirked. “Speaking of, since I cooked and am now going to collect a hundred pounds of worm meat, you’re in charge of the dishes.”

He sputtered. “I - I beg your pardon?”

She waved her fingers at him. “Have fun.”

Izzy sailed out of the cabin, cackling to herself, and collected several sacks from the barn made of thick, heavy canvas and stained with old fluids. She recoiled from the smell but tied them to her pack anyway. About to summon Sethy, she remembered that she promised not to call him for the next two days after the river disaster and swore.

“Thank fuck for those exercises,” she grumbled.

Mace in hand, Izzy set off to find some worms. Her vision suddenly blurred. She stumbled and a deep pang of hunger twisted her gut. She groaned. Of course. Izzy dumped her pack to the ground and knelt next to it as she fumbled for the small silk pouch she kept in a special inner pocket. Once she found it, she withdrew a blood red crystal and raised it to her lips. Tendrils of magic flowed from the gem and she sucked them down with a shuddering sigh. Magic flooded her senses, pure and fresh, and everything sharpened as her body absorbed it. Her stomach settled and the dizzying weakness that stole over her faded. She dropped the empty crystal back in the pouch and counted.

Just three left.

“Don’t think about that now,” she muttered and got to her feet. “Think about it when you actually need to.”

Course set, she slid her bag back over her shoulders and trudged on. Over the next few hours, Izzy slaughtered worms, bats, and hounds at Tyr’s insistence. She cleared the area around his cabin for a few miles in all directions and hauled back 20-pound sacks of meat for him to start preserving. By mid-afternoon she started to drag. Her muscles tingled and twitched in protest and her wrist ached from swinging her mace. She slung the last bag of meat over her shoulder and trudged back to Tyr’s house.

“There. One hundred pounds of disgusting worm meat,” she announced and dropped it at his feet. “I’m going to go crawl in the river for a few minutes to try and get some of this goo off of me.”

“Thank you Izzy. You’re too kind to an old hermit.”

She waved that off and went to the river. Unlike last night, she didn’t actually go into it. Instead she stripped off her outer robe and other armor pieces that needed cleaning and rinsed them in the rushing water. She kept her gloves on to not only wash them but shield her fingers from as much of the cold as she could. Trembling and damp, Izzy hauled her things back inside and huddled close to the fire. If she kept to the roads, it was possible to travel back to an inn without her combat gear. Maybe crafting a second, backup set wouldn’t go amiss, but the materials -

“You have been a shining example of kindness and decency. You’ve worked hard and given much.” Tyr draped a blanket around her shoulders and settled into his chair. “Rest your weary bones and allow me to properly introduce myself.”

She wrapped the thick but slightly scratchy material around her shoulders and settled into the second chair. He rubbed his hands together in front of the crackling flames. The light cast deep shadows over his face, scoring the lines near his mouth and nose and darkening the rings under his eyes. She crossed her legs and waited.

“First, I must apologize for the subterfuge. I had to be certain before I revealed my circumstances.” He took a breath and released it, garnering his strength. “My name is Tirion Fordring.”

Izzy’s brows shot up. The disgraced paladin formerly of the Order of the Silver Hand. Rumors about his actions and exile kept the Sun Court gossips entertained for months back when the sin’dorei were still part of the Alliance. She tapped her lower lip with her pinkie and idly swung her leg back and forth.

“I expected some crazy things, like you were an axe-murderer or a pervert, but I admit, that was the last thing I thought I’d hear.”

He snorted. “Yet you still agreed to stay overnight in my home.”

“Needs must and all that. I was willing to give you the benefit of a doubt. But back to your story?”

“Ah yes, of course. You see, it’s about my son.”

Tirion spun his tale of woe. How he was exiled and rejected by his wife after keeping his vow of honor to Eitrigg. The loss of his home and family transformed him from a well-respected man into a bitter, broken hermit. He reached out to many adventurers over the years but few proved honorable enough to help him with his task. When he spoke about his son and how he watched him grow up from afar, Izzy’s expression grew stony. He waxed on and on about his son, how he strayed from the Light, and his plans for not only Taelan’s redemption but his own.

“I chose to remain here in Lordaeron to watch over him. Taelan became the lord of Mardenholde as he was raised to. When he was inducted into the Order of the Silver Hand, I wept with pride, though my heart broke that I couldn’t embrace my boy and the man he’d become. But he’s lost his way. I know he is a good man who knows in his heart what he does is wrong. He just needs guidance.”

Izzy fought to keep her snark under control. Her fingers dug into the armrests and she ground her teeth together until her jaw clicked.

“The Fordring redemption will be a difficult task. Are you prepared?”

“A moment.” She held up a hand. “I just...I need a moment.”

“Of course. I understand that what I ask of you won’t be easy. But I know the Light sent you to me for a reason. We will save my son.”

His voice rang with conviction but Izzy remained unmoved. The whole situation brought up too-fresh memories of her last talk with her mother before she left for Outlands. Before she abandoned her wounded, grieving daughter in favor of what she saw as her duty. Much like the man before her, minn’da’s “honor” meant more to her than her child. Her family. Izzy’s eyes burned.

“Tirion,” she began, her voice firm with resolve. “I’m sorry you lost so much because of some judgmental bastards. You risked everything to save the life of a potential enemy and for that, you should have been commended, not exiled.” She raised her eyes to his. “However, I won’t be a part of this so-called redemption of your son.”

He stiffened. When he spoke, his voice became halting, and shook. “Why? You’re a priestess of the Light. It’s your duty to heal those in need.”

“He isn’t in need. He’s a grown man, capable of making his own decisions, and he’s made them. Just because they don’t line up with what you wanted for him doesn’t mean he needs saving.”

“But he needs to regain what he has lost.”

“And what’s that, exactly?”

Tirion huffed. “His honor and compassion. The Scarlet Crusade tore away everything honorable about him but I know there is still goodness in his heart.”

Izzy scowled and rose. No way was she staying a minute longer and listening to his crazy. She shoved her damp armor into her pack and ignored Tirion’s questions as she debated on where to go next. Back to Brill? No, she needed more mana crystals. That meant a visit to Silvermoon. She hid a shudder. She’d make it a quick one. Less chance of her getting roped into something.

“Izzy please, would you at least be willing to retrieve some mementos of his past?”

“No, Tirion, I wouldn’t. In fact, I think I made it plain that I don’t want anything to do with this scheme of yours.” She faced him and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re being an idiot.”

His cheeks flared red and his nostrils flared. Before he could open his mouth to spew more nonsense, she continued.

“You chose to remain a martyr in exile rather than tell a few white lies and sneak Eitrigg out another way.”

“I couldn’t lie to my brothers in arms. I swore a vow on the Light to always be true to my word. To my honor.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you think I don’t know that? I took oaths too. As a healer I swore to do no lasting harm to my patients. To heal without judgment. To protect those in my care. But sometimes I need to harm a patient to save them. I’ve had to cut babes out of mothers when they couldn’t be born naturally. I’ve taken off limbs to stave off the spread of rot and blood disease.”

As someone who took her own vows seriously, Izzy understood where he came from. But she was also a healer. Healing wasn’t always as straightforward as people believed. Sometimes she had to make hard choices.

“You swore to be honorable and true to your word but you took it to the extreme. You left him and so your son had to make his own way without you.”

“I was banished,” he protested, voice rising in desperation. “My wife rejected me. She told our son that I had died. She swore she would turn me in herself if I so much as sent Taelan a letter.”

“And when he became a man? What stopped you then?”

“I - I - ” He fumbled for words. “I went to his anointing when he joined the Order.”

“Did you speak to him?” Silence. “Leave him a note?” He looked away. Izzy’s fingers dug into her biceps. “Reach out to him in any way?”

The more she pressed, the quieter Tirion became. As much as it hurt him though, she wouldn’t let up. Anger burned a slow, steady path up her spine. He was no different from minn’da. He chose his duty over his only child. No. He chose _himself_ over his child and sought forgiveness for his selfishness by using Taelan as an excuse.

“If you didn’t want to be a parent you shouldn’t have had a child in the first place,” she spat. “You made a vow to be unselfish and true but you made it to the wrong people.” Tears stung behind her eyes but she quashed them. He didn’t deserve them. “And now you regret the choices you made because your son followed a path you don’t approve of. Well boo hoo, but you don’t get to decide if he needs redemption. You gave up that right when you walked out of his life.”

Tirion slumped over, tears streaking down into his beard. She turned away from him before she started crying. Parents could be some of the most selfish creatures on the planet. Or the most selfless. Then there were those who fell somewhere in the middle where they didn’t neglect or abuse their children but they also didn’t give them all their love. Minn’da loved her and Tansil. She had to believe that. She wouldn’t have trained Izzy so hard, pushed her to do her best, if she didn’t. But when King Anasterian was slain by Arthas, she chose to leave rather than stay with her last living family.

Izzy swallowed the lump in her throat and marched towards the door.

“Is this because he’s human? Because I am human?”

She whirled on him, eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare use guilt on me. When Arthas, one of your so-called brothers in arms, stormed Silvermoon and slaughtered everyone in his way, we lost everything. _I_ lost everything.” Her chest heaved as her last bits of compassion burned away. “You’ve spent how many years ignoring your son. You were never there for him. You chose a group of hypocrites and murderers over him. So tell me: who’s the one who really needs redemption?”

He was lucky she didn’t take her mace to him. The slight to her character, that she would deny him help just because he was human and part of the Alliance, fanned the inferno of her anger. He acted so self righteous. Just like every other paladin she ever met. Worse, he touted the group that spawned Arthas, who persecuted him for upholding their very ideals of honor, as a shining example of moral goodness. She wanted to vomit. Then bash something until she felt better.

“Your son is a commander in the Scarlet Crusade. As far as I’m concerned, he’s another cult member to be wiped off the face of Azeroth.” She turned her back to Tirion. “If I see your son, it will be on the battlefield, and I won’t be merciful.”

With that, she stormed out.

More of the hypocrisy of humans. Of the Light. His son wasn’t just a member but a leader in the Scarlet Crusade. He held a position of power. One didn’t get that high without spilling the blood of the “unclean.” Thinking back to the monastery, to what they might have done to Gunnar and Lenora, stoked her anger higher and she slid her mace into her hand. Izzy lashed out at any creature unfortunate enough to cross her path with spells and spikes. Entrails and offal splattered her clothes, covering her from head to foot by the time she reached the road. She stood, panting, as magical hunger gnawed at her.

“Not now,” she growled and slid the mace back on its loop. “I don’t have time to deal with this.”

Ignoring the pangs as best she could, she trudged her way back to Tirisfal. She’d clean up and get some rest before she detoured to Silvermoon and headed back out to do some more work for the Argent Dawn. At least they had some Horde representatives and welcomed help from anyone who wanted to rid Azeroth of evil. Thanks to her little temper tantrum, she had plenty of scourgestones to turn in. By the time she reached Brill, the sun sank low and people lit the lamps. The air, warmed throughout the day, quickly cooled until she shivered in her thin shirt. She crossed the main square and raised a hand in greeting to Deathguard Morris, who eyed her for a moment before he nodded.

“The winches are gonna go!”

“Look out!”

Something cracked and crashed. Izzy whirled as something thudded closer to her and thrust her hands out.

“Whoa!” The levitation spell stopped the enormous pumpkin in midair inches from her glowing hands. “Belore, what’s with the pumpkin?”

“Ah, Priestess Ambershield.” Renee shuffled out of the inn and looked the giant gourd over. “Not a crack in it, good.” She straightened, her spine popping. “Come on then, might as well bring it inside since those idiots can’t be trusted.”

Izzy shrugged and followed Renee into the inn. Under the woman’s directions, Izzy carefully maneuvered the pumpkin over near the bar. A large, square black cloth embroidered with symbols sat in pride of place on the floor and she lowered her burden onto it nice and easy. Once it settled, she stepped back and winked at Renee.

“Your verdict, madame?”

She tilted her head. “It’s crooked but it’ll work. Not bad, priestess.” Renee moved behind the bar and took out her reservations book. “Haven’t seen you for a while. It true you raided a temple and fought a god?”

Izzy bit back a laugh. “It was his avatar, not the actual god.”

“Same difference. So how long you planning to stay?”

“Until you kick me out?”

Renee cackled. “I’ll put you down for two weeks. I got a feeling you won’t stay for long.” She reached behind her and snagged a key. “Room 17 on the second floor should suit you fine.”

The innkeeper slapped the key in her palm. Izzy thanked her and headed upstairs. When she unlocked the door and stepped in, she froze. A bed with a thick mattress sat in front of the hearth with extra blankets to guard against the chill. None of the thin, narrow cots she had in the room she shared with Desi and Lulu. A chair and table stood near the window. Not an odd sight but the cushion in the chair seat certainly was. Off to one side were cabinets and containers for storing food. Fresh food.

Everything a living person could need.

It wasn’t random. Couldn’t be. The Forsaken didn’t think about the comfort of the living, not that Izzy blamed them, because they weren’t among the living anymore. Someone set the room up on purpose.

But who? And why?

She closed the door softly and investigated the spacious room. Behind a carved wooden screen in the corner was a tap and a large tub with a pipe attached for draining. Hot and cold running water. Perfect for a bath or for washing clothes. Izzy’s eyes burned again and she sniffled.

“Gotta clean up first,” she mumbled and started stripping. “Then I can go downstairs and say thank you.”

Once her damp clothes were hung up with weights and the bath drained, Izzy put on a simple dress and slippers before going downstairs. Renee stood at the bar, chatting with a warrior in heavy armor. Next to him, a priestess perched on a stool, her ink-black hair a straight, silky curtain around her waist.

Izzy beamed. “So what happened to journeying to Kalimdor? Don’t tell me they kicked you out for being too lovey-dovey?”

Lenora swiveled on her stool and her eyes widened. A warm smile lit up her face and the two of them hugged.

Izzy squeezed the muscles on her arms and whistled. “Been doing your exercises?”

“Gunnar’s been a bear about it.” Lenora rolled her eyes good but gave her lover a warm look. She shoved Izzy lightly. “You’ve set the bar far too high.”

“What, getting up at the crack of dawn not your cup of tea?” Izzy teased and held out a hand to Gunnar. “You’re looking a lot better.” She winked at Lenora. “Helps to have a personal healer give you all kinds of tender loving care.”

“Shut up,” Lenora snorted.

Gunnar chuckled and shook her hand. “And you’re in much higher spirits than last time, priestess.”

Lenora nodded to a cluster of chairs by the fire and they moved over to sit. As soon as Gunnar settled, Lenora perched in his lap and snuggled in close. His expression softened into a smile as he took her hand. The way he looked at her stirred Izzy’s heart. Sylvanas used to look at her like that. Izzy used to curl into her lap or her side whenever they had a stolen moment or two together, safe and cared for. She shifted in her chair.

“So what happened to Kalimdor?” Izzy asked.

“Sadly the locals didn’t agree with us, so we came back home.” Lenora highlighted some of their travels, keeping things brief and concise. “Since Felwood didn’t work out, we planned to see about work in the Plaguelands due to it being close to home and infested with Scourge and zealots. But with Hallow’s End coming up, we decided to take a brief holiday first.”

That explained Renee’s giant pumpkin. “Are you going to stay here or at the barracks?” Izzy toyed with a loose thread on the arm padding.

“We hadn’t planned on either place, really. We prefer our privacy when camping out but with you here, I wouldn’t be averse to staying and catching up.”

Gunnar nodded and smirked. “I’ll take any extra help in dragging her out of bed before dawn.”

Izzy’s grin radiated glee. “Oh I think I could be persuaded.”

“I hate you both,” Lenora deadpanned and huffed. “What are the Plaguelands like in terms of work?”

“Eh, lots of Scourge, lots of Crusaders, and mostly the Argent Dawn trying to keep the undead contained. I’ve been working with them for a while but I don’t know how well that’ll go after today.”

Lenora cocked a brow. “Did you insult someone’s undergarments again?”

“First off, that joke was amazing. Second,” she trailed off and rubbed the back of her head. “I may have said something to someone who carried a lot of clout back in the day. But he fucking deserved it after what he tried to pull with me.”

“Somehow I doubt that but I’m willing to reserve judgment until I hear the whole story. What happened?”

With a groan and a roll of her eyes, Izzy told them what she did. What she said. And to who. Lenora’s scowl grew deeper and her eyes blazed with fel green fire and a touch of shadow that flared when Izzy finished.

“That bastard. I would have ripped his mind to shreds until he couldn’t tell up from down anymore,” Lenora growled, her hold on Gunnar tightening. “How dare he? What right does he have? Ugh. Alliance. So self-righteous.”

Gunnar stroked Lenora’s long hair as if soothing a spitting mad cat with the air of long experience doing so. Izzy hid a smile as Lenora’s rants turned to mumbles and she settled against her lover again. She didn’t want the other priestess to think she was laughing at her and rile her up again after all of Gunnar’s patient work. The peaceful moment shattered when a spike of hunger lodged itself in her mind and stomach. She stiffened and forced her breathing to remain calm. Steady. But her fingers dug into the arm of the chair and holy magic sparked around the tips. Cold sweat beaded around her hairline and small tremors racked her but she remained still. For the moment.

“Seems I’ve brought the mood down,” she said, forcing her voice to a more cheerful tone and stood. “Sorry about that. I think I’ll head up for bed. Long day bitching at old men. You two stay down here and keep being cute. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Lenora trailed her gaze over her. Familiar with the power in a healer’s look, Izzy waved and tried to make her way nonchalantly upstairs. She’d thank Renee in the morning. Somehow, Izzy managed to make it to her room and locked the door behind her. She hit the floor, jarring her knees, and bowed her head as she tried to breathe through the pains.

It made no sense. She meditated for an hour as part of her morning training. It should have focused her mind enough to keep the hunger at bay. But she couldn’t help but think of those three crystals in her bag. Filled with power. Ready to be consumed. So close. So easy. She keened softly and dug her fingers into the floor. She wasn’t sure how long she knelt there, gathering her resolve, fighting back the ache that demanded to be sated. Izzy turned her head away, sucking harsh breaths through her open mouth, shame roiling under her skin. She should have had better control. Another sign she wasn’t anywhere near her goal.

Someone knocked lightly on the door. “Izzy?”

Lenora. Izzy closed her eyes and forced her voice to remain steady. “What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but notice downstairs - ”

“I’m fine. Just a little worn out from today,” she insisted. “Shouldn’t you be resting? Long day of travel behind you. Long morning of training ahead of you. Better sleep while you can.”

A soft huff. “Don’t think you can fool me. I know the signs as well as you do. You need crystals.”

“No.” Izzy shook her head. “I fed this morning. I’m fine.”

“And how much magic did you use today?”

A lot. But she didn’t admit it. Between killing all of the beasts for Tirion and then her little rant in the Plaguelands, Izzy had drained her core dry more than once. Her stomach cramped and she moaned.

“You idiot,” Lenora’s soft voice trembled. “Izzy please. Let us in.”

“I told you I’m fine. It’ll pass by morning. I’ll just drink some tea, settle in, and go to bed.”

She’d add a drop of sleeping potion to the tea so she could pass out and ignore the symptoms until the morning. Hopefully a night of rest to allow her core to recharge would ease the pangs. It had to help. If she woke up and it was worse...she swallowed. Pushed the thought away. Stood. She kept shaking but she remained determined. It had to get better. No other outcome was acceptable.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Lenora persisted. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Trust us when we say that denying your cravings won’t make them go away.” Gunnar’s raspy voice shocked Izzy to stillness. “Trust _me_. The hunger never goes away. It can only be dealt with. Overcome.”

“Your hunger and my hunger are two different things,” she protested.

“Not in all cases. Many elves have fed their cravings by draining the magic from living beings.”

That took the fight out of her. He had a good point. One she couldn’t deny because she considered it herself back in the early days. When Kael’thas and his allies destroyed the Sunwell to keep its corruption from spreading, all of the elves collapsed from hunger. Izzy included. So many died from the shock to their systems. Even when Rommath taught them how to siphon arcane power, the cravings never left. Back then, she eyed the mana wyrms, the treants, tempted to take one little sip, one taste - until the wails of the Withered brought her back to herself. Reminded her of the cost of overindulgence. One thing she could say with pride was that she never fed from the living.

But she still hungered.

Just like the Forsaken.

“Izzy?” Lenora’s voice broke through her fog.

“It’s alright.” She forced her voice to remain calm, if a bit shaky. “It’s passed.” Lies. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But - ” Lenora’s protest was cut off, most likely due to Gunnar. Silence stretched. “Alright. I don’t like it, but alright. Don’t think I won’t be at your door first thing in the morning.”

“Good. Means you won’t have an excuse to miss training,” Izzy quipped.

Incoherent sputtering and a bark of masculine laughter came from the other side of the door. Lenora huffed. “You’re both insane and I blame the exercise. More reason for me to not join you. I don’t want to catch what you have.”

Izzy guffawed. “Aw, Nora, I’m touched. You’re starting to sound like me.”

“You’re impossible,” the other priestess huffed but her tone softened. “Call us if you need us.”

Izzy smiled but didn’t say anything. She couldn’t promise she would. Nor could she tell the truth. Best to remain silent. Bumps and grumbles came from the hall before fading away and her shoulders relaxed. Her ruse worked. Or at least, it worked enough that Lenora didn’t push. She’d have to work harder to hide the pains. She pressed her hand to the door and pushed herself to her feet.

“You don’t fool anyone.”

She froze. Gunnar growled but not in a malicious way. More like he was in pain. Her instinct to heal shot through her along with another hunger cramp.

“You accomplish nothing by suffering in silence. Believe me. If you try, you’ll only end up hurting the ones who love you.”

“Not exactly silent, though.” She tried for levity and pressed a hand to her stomach.

He growled and muttered under his breath. “By the Endless Dark, you’re fucking stubborn. Let me put this in terms you’ll understand. Even the strongest pillar breaks. The most powerful mountain erodes. Don’t let it get that far.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the door. “I’m not planning on breaking anytime soon.”

“You’re not but you will and when you do, if it hurts her, I will end you.”

He delivered his promise in such a flat, matter-of-fact manner that Izzy’s stomach clenched with something besides nausea. Her hands shook. She forced herself to smile, to inject positivity into her voice.

“Duly noted but don’t worry. I don’t have a lot of people in my life.” Her false cheer waned as the weight of her words pressed down on her. “I can’t go around squandering the ones I’ve got.”

“Good. Keep that in mind.”

His heavy boots tramped away and she released a breath. Tea. Tea and sleep. Tomorrow she’d return to Silvermoon. See _him_. Belore she didn’t want to but he was the only one who could get crystals on a reliable basis. She staggered over to her packs and fumbled for the sleeping draught. Her hands shook so badly from the pain she decided to forgo the tea and take the potion directly. With one hand gripping her wrist to steady it, Izzy placed the smallest drop she could on her tongue. She quickly corked the vial and set it aside as she swallowed and heavy lassitude stole over her. Between one blink and the next, she collapsed in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter wasn't inspired by a song so much as it was the idea of forgiveness, choices, and redemption. This chapter came a lot easier and I'm already looking forward to next week's. We've entered the spooky season, my favorite time of year, and this fic is going to reflect that in the coming chapters. We'll meet Izzy's mysterious "him" that supplies her with crystals, celebrate Hallow's End, and take a dive into that house of horrors: the Scholomance.
> 
> I'm so excited.
> 
> Hope everyone has a great week, stay safe and sane, and as always: thank you all so much for the kudos and visits to this story. We're closing in on the end of the "vanilla" arc and soon Izzy will be heading to Outlands. Until then, happy reading!


	8. Into the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains sexual situations and language. Everyone involved is age, there aren't any huge age gaps, and in terms of the sex workers, have signed multiple contracts consenting to their work, have safe words, and aftercare provided. Oh, and there's lots of dead things.

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

Izzy glared at the glowing red gem next to the thick, iron banded door. It offended her. Fel, a lot about him offended, amused, and frustrated her. But he was family. The last family she had on Azeroth and he had what she needed.

Crystals.

No amount of sleep or meditation eased the pangs that gnawed at her. After morning practice with Gunnar and Lenora, a light breakfast, and a bath, she rode for Silvermoon in the hopes of getting the meeting over as quickly as possible. Murder Row held the “respectable” black market and that’s where the front of his business existed. Her world tilted. Izzy pressed a hand to her head and closed her eyes as she steadied herself. Once things stopped spinning, she pricked her finger and pressed the drop of blood to the jewel. It flashed blue and gears clinked. She strolled around to the tiny alley between the two buildings and once she was exactly twenty two steps in, slipped through the hidden side door.

She went down a flight of stairs, through a tunnel, and passed another checkpoint before she reached her destination.

Kav missed his calling as a performer with his flair for the dramatic.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Do I see...people? All the way out here?” she threw up her hands. “Praise Belore, I’m saved!”

She might have, too.

“You’re as bad as Boss.” Falcon, a muscled orc rogue, shook her head, spiky black hair falling into red eyes, then grinned. “Spread em.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least buy me dinner first.”

Falcon barked a laugh. Izzy grinned and raised her arms as the second guard, a sin’dorei with the code name Blade, skimmed his hands over her and plucked at every place she hid a weapon. However, unlike the customers or other visitors, he let her keep them. Falcon murmured instructions into the communication crystal piercing in her nose as Blade finished searching her. He smirked.

“Try not to ruffle Boss’s feathers too much. We’ve got a busy night ahead.”

“No promises.” The door finally opened and Izzy squealed. “Kithy!”

She bounced over and threw herself at him in a hug. The massive Tauren caught her easily and his chest rumbled as he laughed. The brown-on-white spotted fur tickled her cheek as the scruffy, scarred druid gave her a squeeze before rearranging her to perch on his arm. He carried her into the Establishment proper and made sure to duck under the crystal chandelier that hung in the main entryway.

“I swear this place gets gaudier everyday. How’ve you been? He hasn’t been running you ragged has he?”

He chuckled. “Boss treats me just fine and I get the best perks in Azeroth.” Kith nodded to a few other guards as they strolled over the marble floors and up the highly polished, carved stairs.

Izzy rolled her eyes. “‘Benefits,’ of course. How could I forget those?” She tried to pry more gossip out of him as he sauntered down the left hall then frowned. “Didn’t we take the right stair last time?”

“Boss’s orders. We’re trying out some new room configurations.”

“The only thing he’s trying to do is confuse the fuck out of everyone that walks in. Bad for business if you ask me.”

Kith laughed but didn’t disagree. They passed paintings, familiar and new, in alcoves with light crystal spotlights over each one. More guards patrolled as the ostentatious show grew more tasteful but no less elegant and Kith took her through a hidden door. The secret passages formed a labyrinth in the walls that Izzy never bothered to try and figure out. Every time she visited, it changed.

When they finally emerged, it was to a small entryway with three doors and two extra guards. Low lighting highlighted an odd assortment of objects. A blood stained ring and necklace set. A vase with crystalline roses. And a painting. Izzy squirmed until Kith set her down so she could approach the portrait. Three smiling faces looked out at her. Tansil draped over her like a monkey while Kav tried to look important but the artist perfectly captured his small, genuine smile. She dug her fingers into her tunic to avoid touching her baby brother’s face. A face that grew more distant with each passing year.

“Best go on in,” Kith rumbled. “Boss is a busy man and we got a new shipment coming in today.”

Like ripping off a caked on bandage, Izzy tore her eyes away from the painting and approached the central door. She knocked and a voice called for her to enter but she hesitated. She eyed the doorknob like it would bite her. Again.

“It’s not booby trapped, Zeezee.”

She rolled her eyes and walked in. “You can’t blame me for being cautious after - oh _come on_.” She covered her eyes. “For fuck’s sake Kav, really? _Really?_ ”

“I told you the door was fine, I said nothing about interrupting something.” Kav’s smooth, cultured voice rose in amusement over the obscene sucking, wet sounds and soft whimpers coming from behind his desk.

She propped a fist on her hip, her other hand still covering her face, and peeked through her fingers. “I am not talking to you like that.”

“Pity. Are you certain you can’t come back in twenty minutes?” He glanced down, white blonde locks sliding over his shoulders, and smirked. “Maybe ten? Ah, ah.” He did something that made the slave squeal. “None of that, little piglet.”

Izzy’s stomach clenched as a fresh wave of hunger and fatigue pulled at her. Her mouth watered at the amount of fel energy in the room. Blood red crystals hovered, powering wards and spells she didn’t even know the names of, and taunted her with their very existence. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“Kav. Please.”

He looked up, brows furrowing over blazing green eyes. Although he preferred his life as a rogue and brothel master, his ability to read people put him on par with some of the best healers she knew. Including herself. Made it nigh impossible to keep a secret from him when she was a kid. She kept her eyes shut as she rubbed her arm. Didn’t do a damn thing to ease the itch of withdrawal.

“Very well.” Blessed Belore, the squelching sounds stopped. “Off you go little pork pie. Tell the master to keep your pretty mouth busy then send you back in as soon as Lady Ambershield leaves.”

A sharp smack brought a yelp and Izzy cracked an eye open just as a red-faced kal’dorei scurried on his hands and knees from the desk and through a hidden entrance that could only be passed through by crawling. Izzy huffed. He never changed. As soon as they were alone, Kav fastened his pants and rose.

“So. Out of crystals already, dear cousin? The supply I gave you should have lasted another two months.” He poured himself a glass of Darkmoon Special Reserve and sipped. “Something you wish to tell me?”

“Don’t fuck your employees in front of me unless you want me to critique your performance? You scored a five and a half by the way.”

He rolled his eyes. “Such a prude. You used to be fun. May I suggest a session with one of the dungeon mistresses? Or masters?”

“No thanks.” Her stomach cramped and she winced. “The cravings are getting stronger. Is Zar around?”

His ears twitched. The gold and emerald piercings and ear cuffs flashed as he slowly turned to face her. “Isn’t that interesting.”

Izzy groaned. “Can we skip the theatrics and get down to business? Just this once?”

“Tut, tut, Zeezee, that’s not how this works. Come. Let’s have a little chat.”

If she didn’t love him so bad, she’d strangle him. Left with no choice, she joined him in a pair of chairs off to the side of the room near a bookshelf. He poured her a glass of Suntouched Special, her favorite, and nowhere near potent enough to get her drunk. As he settled, he crossed his long, muscled legs and propped his chin in his hand. She sipped and eyed him like a wary mouse in front of a lazy cat.

“A little bird told me that my dear cousin has been making quite a name for herself. Scarlet Crusaders, troll temples with gods, gladiator arenas. You’ve conquered many a heart, Zeezee.” He smirked over his glass at her. “All except the one you truly wanted. Are you still pining for her?”

Her fingers tightened on the glass. “We had a mutual courtship, even if it was infrequent.”

“You mean secret.” He cocked a brow. “And you didn’t approach your former lover months before, were summarily rejected, and then rebounded with a devastatingly attractive man? A gladiator, I believe?”

“You’re such a bitch.” Izzy’s face burned. “Nothing happened. Besides, I’m here about the crystals.”

“Ah, yes, that. You know, cousin, you’d fare much better if you weren’t so picky about where you got your magic.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s it going to cost me?”

They proceeded to haggle and Kav made her work for it. As a child, he taught her everything she knew about navigating the seedy underworld of rogues, prostitution, and a cross-factional information network that spanned all of Azeroth. Although his fall from grace came over 200 years before she was born, she and Tansil managed to nose out his existence and decided to meet him. Nothing more exciting to a pair of young elves than a forbidden family member. They had to dig hard because he took the name vonTwilight after being disowned, which only made him more interesting. When they found him, he threatened to sell them in Booty Bay until Izzy talked him out of it.

He spent the next half a century “corrupting” them and laughing about it in the faces of their elders. Every time she haggled with Kav it was a test of her skills, a refresher, and a lesson in something new. They argued back and forth good naturedly, Izzy careful of her words, until Kav raised his glass in a toast.

“Then it’s settled. Eleven healing sessions for my staff to be called in whenever I choose.”

“And a full pouch of arcane crystals for me. If I find so much as a hint of fel - ”

He waved that off. “Your precious morals will remain pure. Back to the matter at hand.” Kav studied her with sharp eyes. “You haven’t given up on Sylvanas even after the necklace fiasco? She’s not the woman she was.”

“Of course she’s not. Neither am I. None of the survivors are.”

“But why keep trying? She’s a corpse for Belore’s sake. She can’t love you the way you deserve.” He yelped in a very satisfying way when she kicked his shin. “Barbarian. Didn’t Aunt Callidora teach you better?”

“Shut your ass.” She stuck her tongue out at him before sobering. “No one deserves love, Kav. It’s a gift.” Izzy laced her trembling fingers together. “I made her a promise. That didn’t change when she was raised into undeath.”

“And her rejection doesn’t matter?”

Izzy flushed and ducked her head. “If she doesn’t want it, then I won’t attempt to court her again.” Even if it shattered her. “But I won’t abandon her. She’s suffered enough and I refuse to add to it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re such a martyr.”

“Am not. That would imply that I’m doing this because I _want_ to suffer horrible pain and torment. If I wanted that I’d take you up on that session with a dominant, not try to reconnect with the woman I love.”

“Fine. But what about that sexy gladiator you almost fought an orc for?”

She groaned but was saved from answering when someone knocked on the main door. Kav excused himself to deal with whatever that was and Izzy eyed the wine. Her fingers itched to grab the goblet and gulp it down but she refrained. Talk of Sylvanas and their past courtship always brought mixed feelings. Belief that the woman she knew still existed in some way. Sweet nostalgia over memories long gone. Stubborn determination to go back. A stirring of heat when she recalled that cool, gentle touch of her hand. Her fingers drummed on the arm of the chair and dug into the plush material. Work beckoned. She could drink later. Kav entered her line of vision and dropped a pouch in her lap.

“Your crystals. And a request.” He tapped a letter against his fingers, the knife and whip seal broken.

“From you?”

“A contact of mine. One of my agents went missing in the Western Plaguelands. Specifically around Caer Darrow.”

Izzy’s eyes widened. “The Scholomance?”

The horror stories that came from that underground nightmare grew more exaggerated as time went on. The former seat of the prominent Barov family had been taken over by the Scourge during the war and transformed into a school of necromancy and black magic. Bands of adventurers and soldiers tried to storm the decaying manor but never returned. Or if their bodies managed to turn up, they were mangled beyond almost all recognition. Ghastly wails and snarling howls echoed from inside the walls day and night. Whether they came from the living or the dead remained anyone’s guess.

Izzy never went near the place.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “And who is this agent? Must be important if they contacted you personally.”

He put a finger to his lips and smiled. “It’s a good opportunity, Zee,” he countered. “Fortunes to plunder. Fame to be had. People to rescue. Eliminating a particular nuisance for the Banshee Queen.”

She straightened. The Scholomance lay at the center of a miasma of dark energy. Hoards of Scourge existed within it and more emerged everyday. It would benefit Sylvanas and the Forsaken to have it torn down and allow them to push further into the Plaguelands. On the other hand, such twisted spiritual energy could overwhelm and paralyze her senses. Any beast or ghoul would be able to sneak up and slaughter her. Or worse. But Kav rarely asked her for anything outright. Manipulated and bargained, sure. She jiggled her knee as she continued to weigh the pros and cons. In the end, she couldn’t say no to her only living family. She’d gouge him for all she could though.

“I’ll need some decent people to group with.”

He smirked. “Don’t trust the random adventurers you find on the street?”

“Not initially, no.” His eyes brightened and Izzy held up her hand. “Don’t even.”

“He’d need to be dead if you don’t want him poking at ya.”

Izzy twisted in her chair and beamed. “Nice to see you out of your potions lab, Zar.”

The troll mage chuckled and nodded hello to her. A lock of blue-black hair escaped from his loose braid and he brushed it back as he sauntered in. Kav’s eyes narrowed as his lover leaned on the back of his chair.

“You haven’t been in the field for years. I’d be amazed if your skills weren’t as frozen as your magic.”

Zar’zek cocked a brow. “You may be the boss of this place but we both know who commands who behind closed doors.” A wicked smirk lit his face. “Or does my little elfling need a reminder?”

“I think he does,” Izzy piped up. “Like he always says: insubordinate subs need to be punished.”

Her cousin’s face turned beet red but he jabbed right back. “Careful. Don’t want sordid tales of your deviant side to spread.”

Izzy rolled her eyes. “Like my partners don’t already know.” She shifted in her seat. “So what’s in it for me if I do this?”

“If we succeed - ”

“If I agree. Best watch that tongue of yours, Kav.”

He sighed. “Fine. If you agree, I’ll lower my healing sessions agreement to nine. If you find evidence of my contact’s demise, your next batch of crystals will be free. If you succeed in freeing him, I’ll owe you a favor.”

“No strings attached and no expiration date,” she countered. At his nod, she stuck out her hand and they shook on it. “I’ll need to check in with my friends in Brill before I leave. Do you have supplies?”

They hammered out specifics, with Izzy threatening Zar with bodily harm if he didn’t bring supplies other than mage biscuits and conjured water. With everything set, she was escorted out but not before catching sight of Zar pinning Kav to the wall. She sighed. Sometimes she missed sex but she made a promise. One she kept for over a decade and would keep until told otherwise by Sylvanas. Before she stepped out into the Bazaar, she took one of the crystals and opened her senses. By the time her magic settled, her escort vanished, so she summoned Sethy and rode for Brill.

The conversation with Lenora and Gunnar went about as well as she expected. They insisted on going with her, Lenora more than her lover, and Izzy whispered the change to Kav so they could coordinate. In the end, Zar and Kith would meet her at Caer Darrow. Izzy couldn’t resist teasing him about being dick drunk and he ended the conversation with a huff. As Lenora and Gunnar packed, Izzy debated. In the end, she decided nothing ventured, nothing gained. She armed up and headed downstairs.

“Leaving so soon, priestess?” Renee asked.

“Not really. You were right, room 17 suits me perfectly. I have work in the Plaguelands though and don’t know when I’ll be back. Would you be willing to hold it for me? I’ll pay you a fair price of course.”

Deadlights widened briefly but she shrugged. “You already paid two weeks for room and board. Since you won’t be eating my food, using the water, or nagging the maids, I suppose I could add another week and call it square.” She got out her book and flipped the pages. “Think you’ll be gone longer?”

“Don’t know, sadly. Got a call to go clear out the Scholomance.”

Renee sucked in a breath. “By the Endless Dark.” She made a few notes in the ledger. “Dark Lady watch over you all.”

Izzy smiled and passed her a few gold coins, far more than the cost of the room. “Thanks. You’re a gem, Renee, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Before Renee could say anything, Izzy rushed out for the stables. Lenora and Gunnar joined her shortly and they rode out for the Plaguelands. Kith and Zar waited for them off the shores of Caer Darrow. Izzy made the introductions and they crossed to the island fortress. Kith and Gunnar argued about who would lead the party as Lenora and Zar discussed handling the various monsters, comparing fear tactics to ice. With them occupied, Izzy slipped away into the ruins of the village.

The psychic energy pressed over her mind and smothered her like a wet, wool blanket. She clutched her chest and took long, slow breaths but it did little to ease the growing tension. Wispy shapes flitted out of the corners of her eyes, pale and insubstantial. Echoes of screams and pleas for mercy, death, loved ones, rang in her mind, not her ears but she still tried to cover them anyway. Sweat pooled down her cheeks and the back of her neck as she struggled to marshal her mental defenses.

“Miss? Miss please. It’s so cold. He’s hurting us. You have to stop him. Lucien? Where’s Lucien?”

Cold breath brushed across her cheek. She stiffened. Didn’t dare turn to look. Unlike the rage and terror in other souls, the whisperer’s voice rang with quiet sorrow that tugged every one of Izzy’s heartstrings. She struggled to lock down her trembling but her mental wall wasn’t strong enough.

“Why are you crying?” Izzy asked, teeth clenched to keep from chattering.

“You can hear me?”

Izzy nodded. “Don’t be afraid. How can I help?”

The soul wailed and cold buffeted Izzy’s face. “It was Krastinov. The butcher. He found us. My Lucien went to fetch water and they found us. Tortured us. Please. Please find our remains and burn them. We’ve been denied the peace of death and are trapped here in this hell. We all are. Please…”

She faded, her sobs and jumbled pleas echoing until they vanished. Izzy choked back her tears and swiped her eyes. Pain and suffering saturated the very soil around her. She should have raised her mental defenses before stepping onto the island. Nevertheless, she would do her best to help. Anything to set the poor souls free and end their torment. Izzy sank inside herself and kept building up her mental wall until she was able to walk. The others wrapped up their discussions when she stumbled back.

“It’s decided. Bull’s taking point and I’m back up.” Gunnar shot Kith a sour look. “Can’t use those magic seeds if you’re dead.”

“Then I simply won’t die. Unlike some.”

“Why you walking side of beef, I oughta - ”

Kith snorted. “Original. We going in or what? No telling if that poor bastard’s still alive or not.”

Reminded of their mission, Gunnar backed down and they prepared. With messenger stones attuned, potions drank, and support spells cast, they clustered around the door. Izzy checked her bag of crystals and tied it securely in her pack. Lenora murmured to Gunnar and squeezed his hand. She bit her lower lip as she thought of Renee’s words. She could only hope the Dark Lady watched over them. Would she even care if Izzy never came back? The shrill creak and groan of the metal door pierced her ears and she hissed. Kith pried the door fully open and shrugged. They filed in.

Izzy gagged and clapped a hand over her mouth. Lenora heaved next to her and clutched her other hand.

Dried blood and offal mixed in the stale, unmoving air. Grime stained the stone floors. Black muck gathered in the corners. She wasn’t sure if it was mold or what but she sure as fel wasn’t getting close enough to find out. A few oil and rag torches provided dim light but also added to the stench. The shadows lurked, deep and dark, and the whispers of dozens of restless souls brushed over her mind. Her shield held. For the moment. The murmurs rose, angered at the barrier, and pounded it against it, demanding she hear them.

“Izzy? You with us?” Lenora’s trembling voice scattered the voices that threatened her psyche and Izzy nodded.

“Stay close,” Kith ordered, voice low, and morphed into his bear shape.

They descended the first set of stairs and onto a landing filled with Risen Guards. Kith roared and charged. Izzy pulled out her mace and tried to sink into her healer’s trance. Her mind refused to calm. Their presence disturbed all of the trapped souls and they shrieked and battered against them. Lenora whimpered and cringed. Gunnar kept shooting glances back at his lover and took more damage as a result. Izzy fought to focus on Kith as his aura dipped into yellow and continued to fall.

She shoved more power into the wall protecting her mind but it made her spells weaker. More. She needed more.

As she strained to reach for the Light, what sounded like a fucking chuckle tickled her ears. She froze. The Light slipped away, laughing at her as it went, and Izzy didn’t have the mental strength to pull it back. For a moment she was back in Quel’thalas. Arthas loomed at the gate, Sylvanas’ screams rent the air, and the Light slipped away from them all. So close but just out of reach. Torn in too many directions to question why it fled, she let it go and dug into her magical core to get Kith back in the green. Satisfied, she chugged an entire jug of the conjured water Zar provided for her before they moved on.

Room by room they progressed deeper into the school. They fought off skeletons, Nerubians, ghouls, and pale, grey-skinned humans all while the souls battered them. Izzy stumbled. She blazed with power and it drew all of the spirits to her for salvation. It also drew the undead who were desperate to eliminate her. Izzy staggered back from a fight, hands over her ears, as the pleas became shrieks of rage.

“Stop, just stop - I can’t - leave me alone - ”

“Izzy! Zar’s down!”

She gasped. Focus. They needed her to focus. Izzy cast her strongest healing spell but it only drew more Scourge to their group. She swung her mace but without her usual precision, it went wide. Catching it on the backswing, she drove it forward. Bones smashed, ground into dust. Limbs flew. A line of pain burned up her arm and she hissed. One of them got her with a knife. She smashed the summoner who stabbed her and cast a quick spell to clean and knit the wound before she lost too much blood. When the last fell, Izzy slumped over, propped up only by her mace.

Kith morphed out of his bear form. “What happened? You never blank out like that.”

“She hears them too,” Lenora whispered, hugging herself.

“It’s getting better. I’m rebuilding my defenses.”

“The fuck you two talking about?” Kith demanded.

“A lot of people died here, beef for brains,” Lenora snapped. “All priests have a connection to the afterlife but the holy priests have it the worst. They’re trained to be sensitive to spiritual energy. Doesn’t help Izzy’s such a fucking bleeding heart.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Izzy insisted with a scowl. “I have it under control.”

“Like you did last night?”

Gunnar’s quip got him the full force of her glare. He met it with one of his own, his expression twisted in warning. She broke first, looked away, and rolled her shoulders. Message received. Rebuilding her reinforcements as quickly as she could, Izzy nodded towards the next corridor and they continued. They eventually fought a gargoyle and a lich in the seemingly endless maze.

No. Not endless. Izzy tripped and stumbled over a broken stone. There had to be an end. Somewhere. Her lungs burned for a breath of fresh, clean air. The further they went, the harder she tried to hold onto that last, flickering hope. Soon it would end. Izzy’s senses numbed. Her mental barrier thinned. The souls blended together into a cacophony of voices that became little more than white noise. Even the voices of her friends became distant echoes as the oppressive atmosphere closed in.

They walked into a laboratory.

For a moment, Izzy was transported to the Apothecarium. Only the parts dangling from the ceiling weren’t Abominations in mid creation or in need of stitching. The usual smells of sulfur and undercurrents of herbs and candles were absent. Izzy frowned. Sylvanas would have a field day if she saw the old blood caked on the tools and the unsanitary conditions. Not to mention, none of the apothecaries would ever leave their stations in such a mess. They took pride in their work for the Dark Lady and the Apothecarium reflected that in its almost military cleanliness.

A growling snarl yanked her out of her delusion and back to the nightmare her reality had become.

“Izzy!”

Teeth and claws leaped at her from behind, dragged her to the floor, and shredded her armor. Her skin. Screams echoed in her ears and for a horrible moment, she didn’t recognize them as hers. The spirits joined in and the chorus of the dead dragged her into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so another chapter posted. The interesting thing? We're almost to the end of the Vanilla arc. I sadly do not have the desire to tackle an entire Vanilla raid so we'll be moving into Outlands in a few more chapters.
> 
> In case anyone couldn't tell: I adore Kav. He's so much fun. And as stated above, his brothel is above board on the surface. Contracts, benefits, access to free healthcare and room and board, and his workers have the options to refuse clients. I'm an advocate of safe, sane sex work, consent, and embrace my local kink community. But yeah, this chapter was fun to write but next chapter is gonna be intense. It's already in the drafting phase, I just need to keep tweaking it.
> 
> No song this week but major kudos to my friend papersparrow for helping me dig up dark music to get me into the proper mood to write the start of Scholomance.
> 
> Thank you all for stopping by in Izzy's little corner of Azeroth. Your comments and kudos mean a lot, especially for my first fic on this site. See you all next week!


	9. The Lost and Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: claustrophobic conditions.

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

Warm streams of summer sunlight danced over her face and bare arms. Izzy smiled and stretched under the canopy of crimson and gold leaves and spread her hair in a fan around her head. The taste of warmed Suntouched Special Reserve lingered on her lips along with tart berries. The only thing missing -

“There you are.” A shadow fell over her and chuckled. “Escaped your mother’s clutches and started without me.”

“What can I say? I’m a rebel.” She shrugged. “Besides, for a moment with you, I’d escape the Twisting Nether itself.”

“Considering how often demons escape there, that’s not very comforting.”

“Stop being such a spoilsport and come down here. I feel like I’m talking to my mother.”

Vana shuddered and stretched out on her side, propping her head in her hand. “You know,” she purred, a hand trailing down Izzy’s stomach, fingers barely brushing. “If you’re angling for a kiss, talking about mothers is the last thing you should do.”

Her fingers trailed back up and touched her cheek. Izzy shivered and laughed. “Where have your hands been? An icebox?”

“You’ll warm them, little light.”

A waterfall of blonde hair streamed around the two of them as Vana shifted and leaned over her. It created a veil that kept out the rest of the world as they kissed. Her lips were as full as ever but cold. Somewhat chapped. She must have been on a mission again. Izzy cradled the back of Vana’s head and deepened the kiss. Darkness fell around them and she frowned. Had a cloud passed over? She peeked up through her lashes.

Burning ruby eyes bore into hers. Sylvanas unleashed a tormented, anguished scream that tore through Izzy’s ears -

She woke up screaming.

Blackness engulfed her. Izzy flailed, still shrieking, as tears streaked down her temples. Her fists slammed into something hard, solid, and close. She was all scrunched up, like the times she hid in the closet during hide and seek with Tansil. Heart hammering against her ribs, Izzy ran the sensitive tips of her fingers and felt the slightly rough, slick grain of polished wood. Her nails caught on tiny slats that let in air but no light. They were barely big enough for her to wiggle the tip of her nail in. Fighting back panic, she felt around blindly for the walls. Her back pressed against a stone wall, she stretched her legs out. They hit more stone on every side before they were fully extended. Too small. Too tight. She scrambled to stand only to smack her head against the ceiling when she reached a half crouch.

“No. No, no, no, no, no. Let me out! Someone! Please let me out!”

She kicked and punched the door until her fists and knees throbbed but it wouldn’t budge. The cell closed in. Walls pressed closer. She felt it in the darkness. Tighter. Tighter. Soon they’d crush her. She sobbed in desperation and kept punching the door until her knuckles came back bloody. Oddly, the smell of the blood triggered her healer training and she stopped to assess the torn skin. Deeming it minor scrapes at best, she closed her eyes and sighed. Slowly, her panic ebbed away enough to where she could think clearly again.

“Okay. Okay. So I’m trapped in what’s basically a closet with no light, no clothes, and no idea how long I’ve been in here.”

She didn’t have light but there were air slats. That meant she wasn’t buried anywhere, thank fuck. A quick pat down proved she was indeed naked with no jewelry or anything left that she could have used to escape. She groaned. Of course it had to be during one of her greatest fuck ups someone with more than half a brain caught her.

“Bastard even took my communication crystal,” she muttered and tested the wood. The heavy thud rang like a death knell. “Fuck you.”

The heavy wood had to be at least a few centimeters thick. She chewed on her bottom lip. The tight confines left little room for her to try and force it open. How in the Nether was she going to get out?

“Keep trying all you want, it’s not going to budge.”

The muffled, male voice came from somewhere to her left. She huffed. “Says you.” But she had a sinking feeling he was right. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

She groaned. “Why is it that every time I ask for someone’s name they give me attitude? Never mind then.” She tried reaching for the Light and snarled when it slipped away. “Fucking petty bitch.”

“Excuse me?” he squawked.

“Not you, the Light. Never there when you need it.”

“Possibly because these cells are warded against magic. Otherwise I would have broken out ages ago.”

Izzy thunked her forehead on the door. What followed was a string of curses wishing every bug, beast, or blight would torment Krastinov all across Azeroth. By the time she ran out of things to curse him with, she determined the door was too heavy to work the hinges loose and no pins remained in her curls so she couldn’t pick the lock. The mass of locks seethed and swished around her waist as she paced and thought. There had to be a way out. Like hell she would stay and wait to be rescued.

If anyone was still around to do that.

“Hey, can you fight?”

“I’m a mage. I wasn’t trained in hand to hand combat.” He paused. “Are you a paladin?”

“Nope. Just a priest with some interesting family.” She massaged her temple. “We’ll have to wait for someone to open the door. Fuck, I hate doing that.”

“You’re captured often?”

“Eh, it’s been a couple of months. Most of the time there’s some weakness to exploit. Shoddy cage, rusted lock, stupid captors, stuff like that.” Izzy raked her fingers over her scalp. “This guy’s smart. How long have you been here?”

“Hard to tell. A day? Maybe two? I lost some time when I was unconscious.”

“Were you awake when he dragged me in?”

“I was.” He made a shuddering noise of disgust. “He sent his ghouls to drag your body in. Or that’s what it sounded like.”

A potential chink. If he sent his ghouls to collect prisoners rather than come himself, they’d have a chance to escape. She drummed her fingers on the door and thought. Was she willing to take a chance with a mage she didn’t even know? One who wouldn’t even tell her his name? He could be a book bound idiot, useless in a real fight. He could be Alliance. Or he could turn on her, find his things and escape, leaving her to her fate. Krastinov would be more on his guard if one of them escaped. She wouldn’t get another chance. A slight hunger pang went through her and she flinched.

“Fuck my life,” she grumbled and sighed before speaking louder. “Okay. If we’re going to escape, here’s what you should do.”

She coached him on where to hit to do the most damage and hashed out a rough plan. Although she hoped the ghouls would come for her first so she’d have more control over the situation, she had to prepare for possible betrayal. On the other hand, a miracle could happen and her friends would appear to rescue them. But Izzy didn’t take much stock in that. She knew they hadn’t been captured. If they were, Gunnar would chew her ass for getting them caught the moment she woke up. Lenora had some healing spells. Kith too. They could have retreated. But had they left the Scholomance completely? Left her to her fate? Her stomach soured at the thought.

Belore, don’t let that be the case.

A door creaked open. Soft shuffling and low growls echoed on the stone walls. Izzy pressed herself against the door.

“Remember, don’t be fancy. Put them down, get the keys, and get me out. You can do this.”

No response. Worse, the mumbling groans and occasional garbled roar stopped before they reached her cell. Her heart sank but she clung to the hope that everything would be okay. A bitter laugh lodged in her throat. Once again she’d been stripped of all she was and left only with hope. Hope and her own stubbornness. It had to be enough. Keys jangled and a lock thudded open. More shuffling. Izzy strained to catch the slightest sound and cursed the darkness that pressed in all around her.

A soft grunt. A meaty thud. The ghouls roared. A waft of icy air tickled her nose followed by the crash of ice on stone.

“Get the keys, get the keys, get the keys,” she chanted softly.

More shouts. More shattering of ice. Silence. The lock rattled and clanked open. Izzy shoved the door aside and charged out with spells blazing but all of the ghouls lay in pieces on the floor. She sighed in relief and flashed him a smile. It quickly morphed into horror at the sight of wispy shapes floating all around them.

“Oh shit.”

Screams slammed into her psyche and she crumpled to the floor. Enraged at being cut off, the souls’ voices blurred together into an endless howl of agony that had no words. Izzy grit her teeth. She tried to ride it out, to build up her walls again, but they shredded them like paper. She rolled onto her back and added her screams to theirs.

“I can’t fucking kill Krastinov unless all of you shut up and get out of my head.” She whimpered and her voice cracked. “I get it, I do. Your lives were stolen. You died in agony, far from home and the people you loved, terrified and alone. You lost everything, even the peace of death. _I understand_ but I can’t do anything unless you stop. Please. Please stop.”

The echoes swirled, surged in a final shriek that burst her eardrums, and settled into a nagging feeling of discontent simmering at the edge of her consciousness. Panting harshly, Izzy healed her ears and wiped the tears from her eyes. She could live with that. Just for a little longer. She got back on her feet and looked around. The mage, a human with curly brown hair, hid his big brown eyes behind a hand and turned around. She choked on a laugh. He had a nice ass. Perfect for spanking. Kav would love him.

He cleared his throat. “And what was that about?”

“Just dealing with some ghosts.” Izzy coughed and spat. “Come on. We need to find our gear.”

“But we’re naked.”

“You _are_ smart.” She rolled her eyes and strolled past. “Don’t ogle me and I won’t smack that ass. Now come on.”

“I beg your pardon! Do you even have any idea where you’re going?” His bare feet padded along behind her.

“Not a clue but I want to check for other survivors anyway.”

“What makes you think there are any?”

The whispers churned but didn’t attack. She still flinched and shivered. “Sometimes hope is all you have left.”

They checked all of the other cells but they were empty. Krastinov didn’t keep his toys around for long. They kept walking. Izzy’s feet tingled with numbness from the stone floors. She rubbed her arms. The mage didn’t react. A side effect of specializing in frost magic, according to Zar. As they continued to search, it gave Izzy plenty of time to think. She pictured minn’da’s disapproving scowl so clearly she half expected the woman to step out of the shadows like a child’s nightmare. If her mother ever knew how badly she’d failed, she’d have Izzy on scut work for months. Her irritation grew as they found nothing in every room they searched. By the time they reached the main lab where she’d been taken, Izzy itched to tear out Krastinov’s throat with her teeth.

“Oh sweet, blessed Light.” Her partner in crime dashed to a small pile of discarded armor and packs. “My robes, my bags, it’s all here.”

“Thank fuck.” Izzy fell on the pile and yanked her things free. She immediately started to dress, craving the shield of armor against her thoughts. “Can you teleport out?”

He checked his bag. “Yes. I still have a few stones left. Do you need a portal?” She shot him a withering look and he flushed. “Horde. Of course. My apologies.” He cleared his throat and frowned. “But what about you?”

“My friends are here somewhere.” She wedged her feet into her boots. “I’m going to find them.”

“You’re insane. What makes you think they’re still here? Anyone with sense would have retreated and come back later with reinforcements.”

His entirely logical point stung. Any military leader would call a tactical retreat when ambushed. Hell, even Kav would have told his men to get back to him in one piece and damn anything else. Gunnar would have done it to protect Lenora. But she was a healer. She couldn’t imagine leaving anyone behind. If any of her friends had been captured, she would have torn through any amount of ghouls or walls or crazy bastards to get them back. A lump formed in her throat. She had to believe they wouldn’t abandon her. They were her friends. Her family. They wouldn’t….

Would they?

She shook her head and fumbled with her bags. Her hands shook as she repacked everything exactly how she had it before. She forced a smile. “You’re probably right. Kav wouldn’t want his men to risk their lives like that.”

His head shot up and he slanted a narrow-eyed look at her. “You never told me what your name was.”

“Oh so now you want to - ”

A bear’s roar echoed across the stone walls and it was the sweetest music to Izzy’s ears. She shot to her feet, grabbed the rest of her stuff, and raced in that direction. Shouts and cussing tickled her ears and she almost giggled in giddy joy. Red auras flickered in her vision. Snapping into healer mode, she cast the strongest group heal she had. Golden light wrapped around her friends and pushed their auras into the yellow.

“Izzy?” Zar looked up and grinned.

“Thank Belore, I am so sick of healing,” Lenora laughed and gathered the writhing shadows in a powerful bolt she hurled at Krastinov.

Much as she would have loved to join in the beatdown, Izzy focused on getting everyone as close to full health as she could. Chunks and bolts of ice magic flew from behind her. The mage charged into the fray, his brown eyes shining blue as he cast. As soon as the Butcher started to falter, Izzy unhooked her mace, ran in, and swung.

Between her and the bear, they mashed Krastinov into mulch.

Flicking a bit of offal off her curls, Izzy dropped her mace and ran for Kith. He popped back into his tauren form and caught her in a tight hug. She buried her face in his chest in an attempt to stop herself from crying. They didn’t leave her. She hadn’t been abandoned again. Kith rumbled something and rubbed her back in soothing circles.

“S’alright, Zee. We’re here. Fuck, look at you. Boss is gonna be so damn impressed. How’d you get out?”

“I had help.” She sniffled and sighed. “Speaking of, I need to finish something quick.”

When he set her down, she opened her senses and called out to Eva and Lucian. They guided her to their remains, left among many others to rot and be forgotten. Izzy murmured prayers for them all, calling them by name as they whispered in her ear, and holy flame spilled from her hands. The screams died. In their place, murmurs of thanks and cold brushes light as air touched her hands, her face, and ruffled her hair.

“Blessed be to all of those who walk in the Light. May your souls find the freedom and peace in death not granted to you in life.”

One by one, they vanished, with Eva and Lucian lingering long enough to embrace before they too disappeared for the other side. Her task complete, Izzy turned back to the others and tended to their injuries. As she consulted with Lenora about where to heal, since she didn’t want to piss Gunnar off more by using Light magic on him, Zar and Kith spoke with the mage off to one side. Their conversation ended when the mage ported out in a flash of blue and white light. Izzy smiled.

“Something you want to tell the group?”

Zar chuckled, his expression playfully malicious. “Just convinced the little human boy to toddle back to the Alliance while he still could. Didn’t want to have to worry about watching our backs.” He sobered and eyed her. “You feeling up to finishing this place?”

She grinned and bared her tiny fangs. “Hell yeah. I’m not nearly satisfied by turning just one asshole into jelly. I need more.”

He ruffled her hair. “Bloodthirsty little healer girl.”

Kith’s laughter rumbled from his throat as he changed back into a bear and lumbered to the next room. Another twitch of hunger distracted her and, having learned her lesson, she took a tiny draft from one of the crystals. Enough to take the edge off until they left the Scholomance. Her blood warmed as it absorbed the magic and she smiled.

*** * * ***

Hours later she sat in Kav’s plush office, sipping tea, and grumbling good naturedly at his ribbing.

“That was such a rookie mistake. I still can’t believe you let yourself get jumped like that.” He shook his head, expression bright and relishing every minute of his teasing. “And you didn’t find even a hint of my contact. I’m disappointed dear cousin. Such sloppy work. What would Aunt Callidora say?”

She threw a smite at him but he dodged. The spell tore a gouge in the wall and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’m not paying for that,” Izzy quipped and set the tea aside. “Where’s the good stuff? I need a fucking drink.”

The rest of their trek through the Scholomance went without a hitch but Izzy still burned with humiliation. Kav bringing up her mother only rubbed salt in the wound. She needed to see her mind healer and soon. It hadn’t even been a full day since they finally stumbled out of that hole, loaded down with loot, and the sun burning in their eyes. Yet Izzy’s thoughts lay trapped in that dark cell. Fears. Insecurities. What if the others hadn’t come? What if the mage betrayed her? What if, what if, what if, over and over in circles until she just wanted to hit herself over the head and forget for a while.

Alcohol would still give her a headache and help her forget but it was less likely to kill her than her mace.

Kav sighed and poured her a drink. “I’m sorry. That was a low blow.” He passed her the cut crystal glass, the amber liquid smoky and a bit woodsy under her nose. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She snorted and shot him a look over her glass. “Would you?”

He brushed that aside. “It’s not the same. I’m the jaded businessman, the heartless rogue. It’s expected that I leave others behind to save my own hide. When I decide to play to those expectations.” He settled down across from her and set his glass aside. “Did you really think I would have left you to rot there?”

Instead of answering, she took another drink. He sighed.

“Zeezee - ”

“If both my mother and the woman I loved could reject and forget me, then what the hell should I expect?” She slammed the empty glass down on the table as the whiskey burned its way through her. “Fuck, even that mage pointed it out. It would have been a completely logical, tactical move for your men to pull out and come back later. If they even came back at all. And don’t give me that bullshit about how we’re family. Not when I’ve seen what you do to families who owe you money.”

His expression darkened. “Those families I don’t give a shit about. They made the mistakes and dragged their supposed loved ones into their mess. They deserve everything they get. But I do give a shit about _this_ family.”

A broken laugh scratched her throat. “This family? You mean the broken remnants left behind after Arthas fucked us all over?” She shook her head. “The heart of our family died when Tansil did.”

Her baby brother was the best of them all. He had the strength and conviction of heart to push through any obstacle but remained humble. Tansil would never have made the mistakes that she did. He would have accepted his faults and asked for help. Minn’da left right after he was killed. Ann’da threw himself into a hopeless strike against the Scourge. Kav retreated into his hidden bunker. Losing Tansil was just the first link in the chain. No matter what she did, she couldn’t match him. She wasn’t enough. She was _never_ enough.

“I need to go.”

“Not yet.” Kav mumbled something and rose. “At least say goodbye to Kith and Zar first.”

She supposed she could do that. They had come back for her after all. Izzy covered her face with her hand. All she wanted was to go back to Brill, curl up in her bed at the inn, and wallow for a little while. Just for a bit. Then she could get back up, put on a smile, and go back to healing. She would be there for others the way no one had been there for her because nobody deserved that kind of pain.

“I knew it.”

Her head shot up and her mouth fell open. “What the ever-loving fuck is he doing here?”

The brown-eyed mage smirked at her. “I should have guessed from Boss’s stories. The infamous Izzy. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Paxton.”

Her gaze darted back and forth between the two men, her mind clicking and whirling. “You son of a whore - ”

“My mother was not a prostitute, thank you,” Kav purred.

“Whatever. _He’s_ your contact? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? If I’d known I was looking for - ” She cut herself off and cackled as a thought flashed. She jabbed a finger at him. “You owe me. You, Aakav vonTwilight, owe me a favor! Ha!”

The mage, Paxton, started laughing too and Kav rolled his eyes. It took several minutes for Izzy to calm down but she couldn’t help it. Going from absolute despair to elation tended to throw one off balance. All her life, getting favors out of Kav proved nigh impossible. They always came with strings attached and pitfalls to watch for. But now she had one. A favor with no strings attached and no expiration date.

“Oh I am going to savor this.” She kept giggling even as she settled back in her chair. “Paxton, huh? I knew you sounded snobby. You a noble?”

“Yes, actually. My father serves in King Wrynn’s House of Lords. Though it should be Lady Prestor’s house now.” He scowled and sat. “The man who returned isn’t much of a king anymore. Setting that aside, I have a message for you.”

“For me?” Izzy leaned forward.

He hummed and nodded as he withdrew a creamy envelope from his robes and extended it to her. The seal blazed gold with magic. Noise fell away. Her world narrowed to that golden seal. One she’d been forced to study for hours as a child. A shield with a crossed wand and sword. Words passed her numb lips.

“A healing shield is the sword to conquer every obstacle.”

Kav choked on his drink. Her fingers brushed the envelope but he snatched it away. Izzy blinked and shot to her feet.

“Give that back.”

He ignored her and stalked to the fire.

“Kav, give it here.” She lunged for his arm. “It might be important.”

“Whatever that woman has to say is nothing but bullshit. Better to burn it.”

“No!” She performed a cardinal sin: she yanked on his hair.

He howled and swore. She used the chance to snatch the message from him and quickly opened it. As Kav muttered about bitches and evil healers and tended to his pride and joy, she skimmed the missive. Short and to the point. Perfect, flowing calligraphy. Her hands trembled. The message was short but each word punched her in the stomach. The paper fluttered from numb fingers and she stared at Paxton. His expression grim, he nodded. He knew what the message contained. What it meant. Why? How?

“Well? What does she want?” Kav snapped.

“She says it’s time to take my place as a proper Ambershield.” Her voice and lips quivered. “The Dark Portal’s opening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, folks. We've officially reached the midpoint of the story. There's going to be a small break next chapter for some more character stuff but then it's off to Outlands!
> 
> This chapter was an absolute bear to write but I'm still happy with it. Thanks to everyone who's visited and left kudos or comments. See you next week for Hallow's End :D


	10. Love Won't Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Year 25 - Five Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

“Will you go?” 

The gentle question pierced the fog of her whirling thoughts and Izzy looked up. Kav’s office. Empty but for the petite redhead sitting across from her. Alesta’s green eyes blazed with fel magic and sympathy. Her delicate hand squeezed Izzy’s knee and the soft but solid touch sent a pulse of warmth through her. Izzy choked on a laugh and collapsed into the other chair. Of course Kav called Ali. 

“Sorry, didn’t hear you come in. How are you?” 

A blood red brow arched. “Fine but this isn't my time. It’s yours.” She shifted in her seat, leaning closer. “Talk to me.” 

A broken sob mixed with a half-mad laugh escaped her. “Anor’alah, where do I start?” 

While she struggled to pin down her thoughts, she crinkled the missive between her hands. Her mother’s signature swirl on her capital C’s contrasted with the bold slant of the letters. It transported her back to a time when she screamed, begged for her mother not to send that letter. To let her be happy. But no matter how hard she tried, the letter went out, and her first attempt at courtship was destroyed. It was one of many reasons why she insisted on secret relationships from then on. Her mother couldn’t destroy her happiness if she didn’t know it existed. But stolen moments far from prying eyes made keeping up a healthy relationship nigh impossible.  


One letter ended her first love. The one in her hands posed to threaten her second chance at happiness. 

If she went through the Dark Portal, she might never return. 

Kav. Lenora. Kith and Zar. Desi and Lulu, wherever they were. 

Sylvanas. 

Tears welled up and she clenched her eyes shut in a desperate effort to keep them from falling. 

“It’s okay.” Ali’s sweet, warm voice reassured her. “You can cry. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you mortal. Valid. You’ve been through so much trauma and this was completely unexpected.” 

Murmuring encouragements, Ali handed her a simple handkerchief. Undone by the small act of kindness, Izzy sobbed. She wailed. She raged against her mother. Her audacity that Izzy would drop everything she built at the click of her fingers. The gall in demanding Izzy return to her side as though she never abandoned her in the first place. She ranted against herself because loathe as she was to admit it, she still craved her mother’s validation. To take her place as a true Ambershield and finally earn her respect. 

“I shouldn’t want to go but I do. If only to shove it in her face that I survived without her and her precious teachings. That I don’t need her. But what if I can’t come back? I’d lose everything. Everyone.” 

She ranted back and forth, alternating between wanting to go and not wanting to leave. Through it all, Alesta let her talk. She remained a pillar of support and understanding, only asking questions for clarification, until Izzy collapsed in her chair, exhausted and no closer to an answer than before. 

Ali passed her a cup of tea. “That’s a lot to unpack. We won’t have time for all of it but let me just say I’m proud and amazed by the strength you’re showing. Especially considering how it was when we first started meeting.” 

“What strength? I’m a gibbering mess,” she croaked and coughed. 

“Yes but you’re our gibbering mess and Kav, Kith, Zar, all of us, wouldn’t have you any other way.” She gave Izzy a fresh handkerchief and tossed the used one into a basket near her chair. “You give so much. You struggle so hard to live up to the expectations of others but you know something?” 

Izzy grunted and sipped her tea to ease her stuffy, throbbing head and sore throat. The cup rattled in its saucer. 

Ali giggled. “Eloquent as always.” Her voice carried tenderness and firm conviction as she met Izzy’s eyes. “You don’t have to live for anything or anyone but yourself.” 

The sentiment was one Ali proclaimed often but Izzy’s stomach still twisted in knots when she heard it. But instead of the instant denial that marked the beginning of their sessions, it mixed with memories of all she’d accomplished in the almost-year since leaving Quel’thalas. The people she met. The things she learned. Even the changes she saw in the mirror everyday since starting her new training regime. 

Yet her failures smacked her in the face, reminding her that she still had so far to go. Lo’Gosh’s blue eyes. Krastinov’s laughter and that black cell. Zae and Ket in the cathedral. Sylvanas’ harsh dismissal. 

“I feel your inner perfectionist rearing its head,” Ali teased. 

Izzy dabbed her eyes and breathed. “It’s just hard for me to believe that.” 

“Then let’s unpack that, okay?” 

What followed was a grueling two hours where they unpacked and talked about everything Izzy wanted or needed to discuss. Alesta challenged her, pushed her to dig deeper, to find the real core of her fears and doubts. She also held up a mirror to show Izzy how far she’d come and pointed out all the changes she noted. They rehashed the past while discussing the hypothetical future. They touched briefly on everything, with Ali trying to reinforce the message that she was enough and that to fail sometimes was to be mortal, and Izzy struggling to believe it. On the surface she agreed. It made logical sense. But in her deepest instincts, she rejected the idea. But the struggle improved. Bit by bit. 

When Ali declared their session done and spent some time grounding her, Izzy could barely keep her eyes open. 

“How do you feel?” Long golden hair appeared in her line of vision. 

She shoved weakly at Kav. “Like a dried out towel someone used to clean a kodo’s ass. But better.” 

“Now that image is one I never wanted to have in this lifetime.” He shuddered dramatically but squeezed her shoulder. “Are you fit to travel or shall I have a room made up for you?” 

“And stick around while you open for business? No thanks. I’ll head back to Brill.” 

He chuckled and helped her up. She wobbled on her feet for a moment before he pulled her into a hug. She froze, startled. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?” 

“Ingrate.” The familiar teasing made her giggle as he held her. “Even the strongest pillars can crumble, Zeezee. Don’t be one of them.” 

“What is it with people being all philosophical around me all of a sudden?” she joked and patted his back. Pulling away, she turned to Ali and also gave her a long, warm hug. “Thank you. I don’t know where I’d be without your help.” 

As much as Kav and Ali supported her though, something held Izzy back from leaning on them completely. Ali was her mind healer. Someone she saw infrequently, usually once a month, and who had to remain detached despite all of her caring. Kav held his own interests first in his heart and while he’d proven time and again that she was important, she just couldn’t trust him to help carry her burdens. And they were hers to carry. After promising to contact them once she made a decision, Kav had one of his men escort her out of the Establishment, out of Silvermoon, and all the way to Brill. They parted at the entrance to the inn, where she tipped him in thanks, and pushed open the door. 

Inside, a fire crackled cheerfully. A handful of adventurers and townspeople lingered around the tables, playing cards or picking at the remains of dinner. The scent of mushroom stew filled the air and her mouth watered. Izzy waved to Renee, who balked and swore when she laid eyes on her. 

“Fuck, you’re alive! When you didn’t come back with the lovebirds, I thought they were pulling my leg.” She eyed her up and down. “You look like the abominations used you for a chew toy.” 

A slightly cracked laugh burst from her. “Didn’t I say you were a gem? Never change, Renee.” She lurched over to the bar and settled on a stool. “Do I still have a room?” 

She rolled her deadlights. “You’ve been gone days, not weeks.” They haggled over the balance of the room, Izzy opting to pay for the whole thing since she was back early, and Renee throwing in room service for free since Izzy “wasn’t a fucking pig, unlike some.” When she tried to tip her, Renee waved it off. “Just doing my job, healer girl. You can thank me by being a model guest.” 

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” Izzy shot her a mock salute then softened her tone to show her sincerity. “Thank you, Renee. For everything.” 

She headed upstairs, unable to stay social for a minute longer. New murmurs broke out as she crossed the first landing and she rolled her eyes. Another legend. The Forsaken did love their local legends. Once she entered her familiar, comfortable room, Izzy slumped against the door and groaned. She stripped, bathed, and settled in front of the fire with a tray of food brought up by a maid. As she ran a comb carefully through her hair, she thought. A decision like that couldn’t be made immediately. She’d take some time, sort through her thoughts and feelings, then make a decision. 

In the meantime, she filled her days with activity. 

Ali and she whispered via their communication crystals when they had time, but Alesta worked for Kav. She had appointments with all of his employees to ensure their mental health and well being. Izzy trained in the yards and got to know the Dreadguards that exercised there too. They taught her new techniques and she took care of any injuries with the shadow magic spells Lenora showed her. Whenever Renee needed something heavy lifted, or even to set up lights on the roof of the inn, Izzy pitched in and levitated whatever needed it. She also experimented in the kitchen, much to Renee’s dismay. But as long as she cleaned up her messes, the innkeeper didn’t complain much. 

Although she took great delight in giving out Izzy’s failures as “tricks” to much teasing and laughter. 

As the Wickerman Festival drew closer, Izzy couldn’t help but think of the ones she attended in the past two years. It was such an important day to the Forsaken. The day of their freedom. Sylvanas always made a speech. It would be the perfect chance to try and see her again. To really talk to her. Especially if she was going to pass through the Dark Portal. Whispers grew everyday. Demonic invasions. Fel energies swirling in the portal entrance. She was running out of time. 

“I’m going,” she whispered into the crystal. “I need to settle things with minn’da once and for all. It’s the only way I can move on with my life.” 

“And if you’re trapped? If you can’t return?” Ali’s whisper countered. 

She swallowed, eyes on the wood and straw effigy in the distance. “I know that’s a possibility but I’m going to find a way back. I have to. Prince Kael’thas might know a way. He’s been over there long enough.” She bit her lower lip. “I want to talk to Sylvanas again. But if I’m leaving right away, it’ll look like I’m running away on her. Am I pushing too hard after last time?” 

“Why do you think you’re pushing too hard?” 

“She already turned me away. Shouldn’t I respect her wishes? Before the necklace, I didn’t contact her. Didn’t even write. I was selfish and she has every right to push me away for it.” 

A beat of silence before Ali sighed. “Speaking as your mind healer, I can safely say you were in no position to reconnect with her in a healthy way. Neither was she. You both went through unimaginable trauma and both had to find and carve places for yourselves in the new world we’re in. But you’ve both grown and changed. It may be like meeting for the first time all over again.” 

Izzy could concede that point. Neither she nor Vana were the same women they’d been before the war. But the fact remained that if she went beyond the Dark Portal, it could be seen as running away. As leaving her. She sighed. There she went again, projecting her feelings and insecurities onto others. 

“No matter what, you still need to have that talk with her,” Ali persisted. “So you can either reconcile or you can both move on.” 

“Yeah. I know.” She bit her lip hard. “Doesn’t make it easier.” 

“Most things aren’t. If they were, they wouldn’t be worth having.” 

Her fingers dug into the windowsill. Even if it meant rejection, she had to fight. For Vana. For them. She would fight and hope for the best. She didn’t know what “the best” looked like but it had to be better than wondering. Dreading. Regretting. She had to show Vana that Izzy kept her word. If she said she’d find a way back from the Dark Portal, she would. If she promised to come back, nothing would stand in her way. But she already knew she had to go. Callidora Ambershield had dictated her life long enough. It was time to take it back once and for all. She just hoped Sylvanas understood. 

“I miss her, Ali. I miss her so damn much.” 

“Tell her. Be honest. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. Maybe she’ll surprise you.” 

“Maybe.” She sighed and tucked a thick lock of hair behind her ear. “Guess there’s no more reason to wait.” 

“Just remember that no matter what, you have people who love you and who believe you are worthy of love just as you are. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.” 

Izzy smiled. “Thanks. Talk soon.” 

She ended the connection before Ali could argue. The old, squirmy feeling in her stomach returned. No matter how many times she heard it, Izzy still had a long way to go before she fully believed that. If she was already worthy of love, then why didn’t - she stopped herself from going down that dark hole. She had a gorgeous woman to talk to. Izzy waited until the effigy went up in flames before she rode out. Knowing Sylvanas, she’d take the less-travelled route back to the Undercity, since the sewers were closer to the Royal Quarter. Izzy guided Sethy through the trees near the border of Silverpine and waited. 

“Make way for the Dark Lady!” 

Of course Nathanos led the pack, acting as both majordomo and trumpeter. She gathered her courage and clicked her tongue. Sethy twitched his wings but followed her nudge towards the party riding up. In addition to Nathanos, two Dark Rangers flanked their queen. Bows rose. Polished arrowheads gleamed in the orange light cast by the burning Wickerman. Izzy inclined her head in respect. 

“I seek a private word, Dark Lady. May we speak?” she asked, eyes only on Sylvanas. 

“It seems you forget yourself, priestess. The Dark Lady dismissed you months ago.” 

“Wow Nathanos, I had no idea your identity crisis went that deep. Can’t be healthy. I can recommend a good mind healer.” She ignored his sputtering, her gaze still locked on her former lover. “But I believe I spoke to the Dark Lady.” 

Sylvanas said nothing but the set of her shoulders and the slight tapping of her fingers gave away her unease. Izzy tried to convey that she wasn’t running. No matter how much rejection would hurt. She searched those stoic features for a hint of something. Anything. She didn’t expect softness or forgiveness. But even a hint of willingness to listen would go a long way to easing her anxiety. 

“The time where I indulged you is long gone, Isoldera.” 

“Maybe. But could we still talk? Please?” 

The shadows under her hood deepened. It made her ruby eyes glint brighter but they didn’t burn with the force of her anger. They remained cool and remote, like a blood moon. Silent, she raised her hand and signaled her guards. The two Dark Rangers retreated to the trees. Nathanos lingered, a dark scowl twisting his features. Sylvanas twitched her fingers again and shot him a look. He bowed his head and rode off, out of earshot but still close enough to protect the queen. A small illusion of privacy but more than she could have hoped for. 

“Thank you.” 

Sylvanas scoffed. “Do not thank me yet.” 

Izzy nudged Sethrin closer and didn’t miss the way Sylvanas stiffened at her nearness. To stop herself from reaching for her, Izzy twisted her fingers around the reins. Every inch of her ached to wrap her arms around the silent woman. To cry in her shoulder, apologize for everything, and explain why she waited so long to reach out. But the Light twined and prickled inside her. 

“Well? I have no time for dalliance.” 

“We never did but we made time,” Izzy quipped before she could stop herself. She flushed. In for a pearl, in for a ruby. “I’ve missed you, Vana.” 

“You miss a memory. That woman is long dead.” 

She sucked in a breath. “So is the girl who nearly drowned amidst the corpses of hundreds of children but I didn’t come here to play ‘whose life is more fucked up’ because you’d win.” Izzy closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I just - I wanted to come and lay everything out and finally figure out where we stand.” 

“Where we stand?” Sylvanas mocked with a scoff. “In case it’s escaped your notice, we now stand on opposite sides of the mortal coil.” 

“Yet we still stand.” 

An edge sharpened the other woman’s tone. “Your optimism is sickening.” 

“And your pessimism is exasperating,” Izzy shot back before reminding herself she wasn’t there to argue. “I’m sorry I took so long to contact you. Part of the reason was selfish. I wanted to be in a place where I was emotionally stable before I tried reconnecting with anyone. I didn’t think it would take so long.” 

“How sentimental. So returning my necklace was your way to ‘reconnect’?” 

“Not really. I didn’t want to have such a moment in public. But I wanted to see you.” Her voice trembled and turned wistful. “I always wanted to see you.” 

Silence stretched. Izzy peeked up, her heart racing in a terrible rhythm that reminded her of troll drums. Sylvanas studied her, lips slightly parted, but it was too dark for Izzy to tell if it was from surprise or if she wanted to tell her off. Izzy flexed her fingers around the leather to ease the cramps and wished she could do the same for her heart. She squeezed her eyes closed, hope dying each second the quiet continued. Sylvanas’ cloak fluttered. Izzy’s heart stuttered and she bit back a cry. 

In one smooth motion, Vana proved that even undeath couldn’t rob her of her innate grace. She dismounted with an elegant sweep of her long leg, hair and hood settling as she stood next to her mount. Izzy scrambled off with much less poise but it was worth feeling like a clod to have the chance to be closer. She froze. She couldn’t get too close. The Light would burn her. But she was so close. Their mounts shielded them from prying eyes. Hope surged. Something must have shown in her expression because the briefest flicker of shock passed over Sylvanas’ features before they shuttered closed. 

“You wanted to wait until you were emotionally stable.” Her own words mocked her in Vana’s sneering, dismissive tone. “Yet you didn’t reach out to me once. Not even a letter to inform me you were alive. I resigned myself to forget you until the day came when you appeared in my throne room like a ghost to torment me.” 

“I never meant - ” 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your refusal to look at me. To touch me. You never hesitated.” Sylvanas cut herself off and squared her shoulders. “Your words mean little when your actions are non existent.” 

“For the love of,” Izzy took a breath and fought back the snark that danced on the tip of her tongue. “I couldn’t look at you because you rejected me in front of dozens. I didn’t write to you because I was confused and hurt and didn’t know if you would even read it. I wanted to respect what I thought were your wishes and not bother you again.” 

She struggled to keep from shouting, to keep herself under control, but it was too much. Too raw. Even as Vana stood, silent and staring, Izzy couldn’t make herself look away or quail from the judgmental gaze. 

“For months I focused on growing stronger, making a life for myself, and...trying to forget you. I thought it was what you wanted. But I couldn’t. I can’t. As for touching you.” She barked a laugh. “I haven’t touched you because first, you haven’t said I could. And second, I channel the Light. I know what that sparkly shit does to your people. Which leads me to three: I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve suffered so fucking much and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m trying not to act like the young idiot I was and think first. I’m sorry.” 

When they were younger and sometimes couldn’t see each other for weeks, all of Izzy’s emotions would burst from her whenever they reunited, and she’d end up throwing herself at Sylvanas. Back then, she hadn’t been strong enough to knock Vana over with her hugs but she came close a few times. She knew better now though. With the transformation into undeath, the Light became unbearable for most Forsaken. Izzy didn’t want to chance touching her until she was certain she wouldn’t hurt her. 

Sylvanas studied Izzy after her outburst as if she could tear her secrets and intentions out of her very soul. Not that she needed to. Izzy would, and gladly, hand over her heart if that’s what the other woman wanted. She had nothing to gain by keeping secrets and everything to lose. Slowly, the Banshee Queen lifted her hand. 

Open. Waiting. 

Izzy sobbed. “Give me a minute? I need to push the Light back.” 

Focusing on her magic, Izzy searched out the channels connecting her to the Light and blocked them one by one. She had one chance. One chance to prove herself and she would not fuck it up. The Light, already agitated at the nearness of the Forsaken Queen, stirred and fought but she smashed it back with all of her willpower. It had no right, no fucking right, to interfere. If it could leave its followers in their darkest times, it didn’t deserve to butt in at all. She didn’t falter and fought harder whenever the Light tried to push back. 

When she finally beat it into submission, Izzy reached out and brushed the tips of her fingers against Vana’s hand. 

A mirror of that moment months ago. 

She searched Vana’s face for any signs of pain or discomfort from her touch. Finding none, she wrapped their fingers together and held on. After several moments of just relishing the sensation of touch, she slipped the gauntlet off. 

“You always liked a stronger fletcher’s glove,” she murmured and caressed the stiff, cold palm with her thumb. “Your scar’s gone. The one from the quill sharpener.” 

Izzy traced the area near the tip of the thumb. No scars. A different skin tone. Yet as familiar as her own. 

“You still have your calluses. I’m getting them now.” Hand shaking, Izzy reached up and touched the wispy strands of hair that flowed from under the other woman’s hood. They caught on her fingers and she couldn’t help her slightly broken giggle. “Not gonna be so easy to run my fingers through your hair. Now I know how you felt.” 

Vana always complained that Izzy’s thick, impossible mane of curls was impractical and a menace to try and restrain. Didn’t stop her from stroking or playing with the locks or fanning them out over the pillows. The contrast between her black hair and the pure white bedding Vana preferred never failed to stir the heat between them. Izzy trembled. Sweat broke out over her brow as the Light fought her hold on it. 

“Vana?” Her voice broke as she forced it back again. “Are you alright? Am I hurting you?” 

Inscrutable eyes met hers. “I can see that foolish heart of yours breaking in your eyes. Feel you shake with the effort of suppressing your power. Yet you ask after my health. My comfort.” 

The wonder and disbelief in her tone shattered something in Izzy. How long had it been since someone cared enough to ask after Sylvanas? Her health and happiness? She reached up and cupped one smooth, cool cheek. 

“One chance.” 

She froze in the act of tenderly stroking her skin. “Vana…?” 

Sylvanas, eyes bright and veins of red glowing in her cheeks, caught her chin and tipped her head up. “I shall give you one chance to prove your sincerity. You plan to travel beyond the Dark Portal.” A small smirk hooked her lips when Izzy’s mouth fell open. “Yes, little light, I know everything about the missive. Your mission. And I understand the need to slay demons of the past. But I will not be left behind again. You will find a way to contact me from beyond the portal. You will find a way to come home.” 

Such a simple request but it carried the weight of all her hopes. “I will. I swear. I don’t know when or how long, but I swear on everything I have that I’ll come back. And until I do, I’ll write to you. Like I should have from the start.” 

In a rare moment, Vana looked away. “I may have been overly harsh. I doubt I would have read your letters if you had sent them in the beginning.” 

Izzy smiled. “It’s not easy being queen. You had a lot to do. Your people revere you. Building something so large out of the ashes of nothing is a task accomplished more by Titans than by mere mortals. Not that you’re mortal anymore.” 

That startled a chuckle from the Dark Lady and it was the most beautiful sound she’d heard in years. The hand still clad in its claw-tipped gauntlet released her chin and slipped to twine through her curls at the base of her head. Izzy sucked in a breath and tilted her head back at the slight pressure. Her hand fluttered from Vana’s cheek to rest on her shoulder. It was a familiar dance. One they both knew by heart, once upon a time. Izzy took a half step forward and waited. She made her intentions clear. It was up to Sylvanas on if she wanted to take the chance. Whatever happened, Izzy would respect her choice. 

Sylvanas pulled her close and kissed her. 

Crying out in joy and relief, Izzy wrapped her arms around the other woman and hugged her closer, tighter. Her warmth mingled with Sylvanas’ natural chill until the air became charged with energy. Even with her tight grip on the Light, Izzy’s blood and body burned. Sylvanas tipped her head just so and deepened the kiss, tasting her as if she meant to devour her. It was everything she hoped and better than she dreamed. She tugged Vana’s hood down and buried her fingers in the woman’s wispy as spidersilk hair. 

Their bodies pressed close, leather and mail against cloth. Hardness against softness. Hands held her by the hips, fingers branding her with that icy cold touch, and Izzy craved more. More touch. More reassurance that it was all real and not a dream. The scent of dried roses and the damp autumn air surrounded them. The ground blessedly solid beneath her feet. Not a dream. Not a dream at all. 

They kissed until even the desperate breaths she took through her nose weren’t enough and Izzy pulled back, panting and dazed. In her moment of weakness, the Light surged, desperate to purify the woman who still held her in her arms. 

“I’m sorry. The Light - the Light’s trying to break free.” 

As much as it hurt, Izzy stepped back and made sure none of her was touching Sylvanas before she lost her hold on the Light. Dizziness swept over her as the magic surged and threatened to overtake her. As she fought to contain it, she found to her horror it spread its tendrils through her. Tiny, miniscule threads, if left unchecked, would do the unthinkable. It would change her into a Lightforged. 

She needed help. If she had any hope of truly reuniting with Sylvanas, she couldn’t do so as a priest of the Light. 

She tried to smile and cover up her shocking discovery but from the way Vana’s eyes narrowed, it hadn’t worked. It never did but she still tried. She licked her lips. Fuck, she could still taste her. “I’m sorry. I really, really fucking want to throw myself at you again and kiss you until we’re both a mess, but the Light - it’s not safe.” 

Sylvanas scowled. “The Light has forsaken the undead. As long as it dwells in you, you cannot touch me.” 

“Then I’ll kick that bitch out. I’ll find another way to be a healer. Because I’m not going another lifetime without kissing you again.” 

A small, bemused smile cracked the other woman’s mask. “You are stubborn, and stupid enough, to make such a bold claim and actually succeed. I look forward to the results of your endeavor. And your first letter.” 

Sylvanas mounted her skeletal horse and rode away. The trio of guards followed her, Nathanos shooting Izzy a knowing, suspicious look as they passed. She waved her fingers at him. Once they disappeared, she slumped against her hawkstrider and pressed a shaking hand over her face. She had a chance, one chance, to get back the one person who made her world brighter but she couldn’t imagine giving up healing. There had to be a way to have both. She just had to find it. She sighed and licked her lips again, wincing when it stung. A tine scrape bled on her bottom lip. Small danger of kissing a woman with fangs. 

Dangerous but oh so thrilling. 

She activated her communication crystal and turned Sethy towards Brill. “Kav? You’re in luck. I’m cashing in my favor. Don’t worry, it’s something really simple.” At his whispered question, she grinned. “Funny story…” 

She’d settle things with her mother once and for all, find a way to heal without the Light, then come home to the place and the people that made it worthwhile. Most people would find it impossible but Izzy thrived on the challenge. She would go anywhere, do almost anything, to keep her promise. No matter what. 

**TO BE CONTINUED IN OUTLANDS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter's late, but my roomie bought dinner at a Chinese place I was unfamiliar with and I ended up sicker than hell. No corona, thank the gods, but it did put a damper on any productivity I may have had.
> 
> But here we are! The end of the first half of Izzy's first "book!" I'm actually going to take a week or two off to really hammer down all the plot points and things I want to happen while posting some interludes in between. Time for some outside character perspectives, whoohoo.
> 
> Ali the mind healer is based a lot around my own therapist, whom I've been working with for years. Yes, she is just that supportive and kind, but it took me ages to find her. Sometimes the first, second, third, sixth try with a therapist doesn't always work out. Kinda like dating that way, if you think about it. But in the end, I found a great therapist who's helped me come a long way and I can use some of her teachings in Ali to help Izzy go through her journey.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments, kudos, and reads. It means so much to me that my first posted fic has gotten such a great response. See you all next week!
> 
> *EDITS* I completely forgot that I named a babu "Fia" a few chapters ago so meet the mind healer, Alesta Sundreamer.


	11. Interlude - Sylvanas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Years 24-25**

Even in a city filled with the undead, she never expected a ghost to appear in her throne room.

Since her rise as the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas took great pains to distance herself from the life and woman she used to be. That woman lay murdered in a bed of tulips with the screams of her dying people around her. The woman who rose from the ashes became reviled by those same people. The Forsaken had to struggle twice as hard to receive even a fraction of credit. And aid? A laughable venture. There were days when her position as Queen felt similar to that of Ranger-General. Little glory, little reward, only her closest allies surrounding her, except those allies were long gone.

Her envoys to the Alliance never returned.

Little Moon remained stubborn and silent.

Warchief Thrall’s eyes studied her with narrowed mistrust.

Lor’themar couldn’t even look her in the eye without a grimace of a disgust. A sentiment shared by many sin’dorei.

Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, once Ranger-General of Silvermoon, became the queen of nightmares and part of her embraced that role and revelled in the power. But certain memories refused to be snuffed out. They lingered. Tiny lights in the ocean that was the Endless Dark. One burned brighter than the others.

“I’m here to speak with the Banshee Queen.”

It blazed in her throne room in the form of a stubborn priestess.

“The Dark Lady has better things to do than deal with - ”

“You dare speak for your queen, Varimathras?”

She rose from her throne, her eyes on the tangled mass of curls she knew anywhere but believed gone forever. Isoldera lifted her gaze and Sylvanas halted. Memories of blue-violet eyes clashed with the pale, watery green before her. She shook them off like so much dust and squared her shoulders.

“Come forward. I trust you won’t waste my time.”

The weak laugh didn’t suit the vibrant healer who once shone like the sun. “Shame I didn’t bring honey cake to make the time go by then.”

Whatever she said next buzzed without meaning. Just the thought of the sticky sweet cake brought a rush of memories so vivid, it almost pierced the nigh constant pain that screamed in the deepest recesses of her mind. Memories of gold and scarlet leaves, of black curls adorned with flower crowns; honey flavored kisses and the comfort of home. A spike of irritation cut through the phantoms of the past long gone. Isoldera dared to return after no word, no news, for almost five years. She didn’t deserve the consideration of the past. Sylvanas hardened her heart and skimmed the priestess with the same dispassion she gave all of the living. Just another petitioner. Another adventurer.

“Do I know you?”

A test. A jab. She waited for the stumbling indignation. The broken pleas and righteous excuses. Over and over her people suffered the rejection of their living families. Sylvanas pitied them but she would not be one of them. Not again. Isoldera didn’t even acknowledge the comment beyond a brief wince. Strange. Had the war hardened her heart so thoroughly? The priestess untied something wrapped in a cheap handkerchief and Sylvanas remembered she carried several in the most ridiculous places. In her boot. Up her sleeve. Wrapped in her hair. For emergencies, she always said.

A second hammer blow chipped at the ice and brambles around her heart. Unbidden, her feet carried her closer to her former lover.

Isoldera breathed in and some of the tension left her shoulders. A flush of pink stained her cheeks and neck but didn’t quite reach the blotchy stage that came when she was truly upset. She held up something that gleamed in the torchlight. Curious, Sylvanas brushed the tips of her fingers against Isoldera’s ungloved palm.

Heat lashed at her.

She hissed.

The Light rejected her once more. Unworthy. Tainted. Words fell from her lips as she reeled from the sting. When Sylvanas recovered, her gaze narrowed on the object now clutched in her hand. A familiar blue gem on a gold chain. If her heart still pumped blood, it would have stuttered. What deity had she offended to be saddled with so many reminders of her past? Anger, cold and constant, burned within her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. So much happened...but I’m glad to see you again.”

Sylvanas nearly unleashed her harshest wail against the hapless girl. After years apart, not knowing if she was dead or alive, that was all she said? Sorry? What comfort could that bring? Isoldera couldn’t even bring herself to touch her. Instead, she let that damnable Light burn her. She froze. Had it been deliberate? Was it a sign of not only the Light’s rejection but Isoldera’s? Sylvanas’s fingers clenched around the gem. It seemed likely. The woman who once pledged to love her brought memories and magic that threatened to destroy her. Another betrayal. One that cut deeper than any other.

“Did you think this would amuse me?”

“What?” Confusion crossed Isoldera’s face. She stepped back. “No. No, I thought - ”

“Do you think you can waltz into _my_ throne room as though the past never happened?” She clenched her jaw. Her hand trembled from the force of her grip. “That we would share wine and cake when food turns to ash in my mouth? When wine won’t warm my veins?”

Shock and hurt devastated the face that once looked at her with love and longing. But those smiles, those looks, weren’t for her, the Banshee Queen. They were for a memory and memories could only comfort the living. Isoldera bowed her head, defeated. Sylvanas raised her chin. There was no room for weakness or sentiment among the Forsaken. She would drive Isoldera, her memory, her beautiful smile, and tender heart so far away she wouldn’t dare to return.

“Alleria Windrunner is a long dead memory. This - gaudy trinket - means nothing to me.” She threw the necklace aside, its soft ping a death knell to the past. “Just like you.” As the final dismissal, she turned her back on the other woman. “You may remove yourself from my presence, _priestess._ ”

To ensure she didn’t look back, Sylvanas engaged Varimathras in conversation. The supply lines were being attacked by Scarlet zealots and trolls alike so it was a topic she needed to address. Her keen ears picked up the stumbling shuffle of soft soled boots and a muffled sob as the priestess fled.

Sylvanas ignored the crack in what had once been her heart.

Yet she found herself reaching for the jewel. Singing a lament for her people and all she had lost. She slid the necklace into her pocket. She wouldn’t wear it. Not anymore. But she couldn’t bring herself to let it go.

*** * * ***

Kalimdor treated some Forsaken better than others and Archibald Bancroft appeared to be one of them. The priest bowed deeply, his deadlights lowered in reverence, his body only slightly hunched over and his white robes immaculate. How he managed that on a journey across the sea eluded her.

“You summoned me, Dark Lady.”

He hadn’t phrased it as a question. Excellent. “I require an assessment from you, Healer Bancroft.”

“Of course. I am at your disposal.”

He straightened and gave her his full attention. The Light within him remained silent, active only when he channelled it. Few Forsaken chose to re-embrace the force that turned its face from them. Most that remained priests turned to the void and shadow magic, which suited their new physiology far better than a power that bathed them in flame from the inside out. Those who wielded the Light had the strongest wills and greatest discipline among her people. By all accounts, she could anticipate a fair report.

It still bothered her that her people could control the Light yet Isoldera couldn’t. Or perhaps wouldn’t.

“You had the opportunity to mentor a sin’dorei priestess in Orgrimmar, correct?” she asked.

“Yes, my queen. Few elves choose to work in such conditions as the arena boasts so I remember her vividly.”

“I imagine the demands of the arena would weigh heavily on any healer no matter their skill. How did she perform? Were there complaints? Complications that reflected poorly on you or the Forsaken as a whole?”

He frowned but wisely didn’t question her. “She had a mouth on her. Impertinent to a fault. Caused some issues with the higher ups but she always thought of the patients first. Nearly killed herself more than once on some hopeless cases.”

“Hopeless cases?”

“One in particular. Her last case before she left, in fact. Lo’Gosh. Poisoned gut wound that should have killed him.”

He explained a bit more. Each word confirmed what she remembered of Isoldera: the compassionate priestess with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a mouth that got her into more trouble than not. So why wasn’t she able to control the Light when Sylvanas touched her? Could it have not been deliberate after all? She couldn’t take the chance. She needed more confirmation.

“When she stood up to Rehgar, I thought for sure he was going to crush her skull. Had the audacity to call herself the bitch in charge.” He snorted a fond chuckle then frowned. “If I may, Dark Lady, why the sudden interest?”

It was an impertinent question but she decided to answer nonetheless. “She has taken rooms at the Brill inn for some time. If I allow her to remain, I must ensure she poses no threat to the Forsaken.”

Another snort and a laugh. “Forgive me but the only threat she poses is to Renee’s patience if she tries to take over the woman’s kitchen.”

“Yes,” she mused, thoughts drifting for a moment before snapping back to the present. She nodded. “Thank you for your time. Dismissed.”

Bancroft bowed again and shuffled out. Once she was alone, she drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne. From the shadows, a stooped figure emerged. He straightened a moment to crack his back but his deadlights followed the priest as he departed the throne room. Nathanos’s keen eye remained even in undeath. Part of the reason she freed him from his mindless state as a Scourge. She cocked a brow at him.

“Do you believe the priestess will cause problems? I would be more than happy to escort her from your lands, my queen.”

“She is foolish and soft hearted so I doubt it. However, I will take no chances. She will be watched.”

Silence stretched. Nathanos eyed her with a slight smirk and she frowned. Some days she regretted bringing him back. The issue with keeping someone around who knew her so well was it made keeping secrets difficult.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing my queen. I merely wonder at your sudden interest considering your dismissal months ago.” He paused, considering. “Although the wench always did have the uncanny ability to charm just about anything.”

“If I recall, you resisted her so-called charm after the troll incident.”

He huffed. “My fingers were shattered almost beyond repair and she dallied with one of those Zul’Aman savages.”

“And yet she set your fingers to perfect rights in moments and coaxed more information out of that beast than we were able to get all night.”

All traces of humor vanished. “Which is why I advise caution, my queen. The priestess may be a sentimental fool but that makes her more dangerous. Her seeming guilelessness could conceal something more sinister.”

His warning rang clear but it wasn’t a lesson she needed repeating. She sneered and waved him away. “Leave me.”

Nathanos excused himself without further comment but his warning lingered in the air. Although she ensured her last words to Isoldera were cutting and final, the priestess showed surprising resilience. It only made her more suspicious. She shifted on her throne and the sapphire pendant rattled on its chain around her neck.

*** * * ***

Sylvanas seethed as she reminded herself for the thousandth time that she couldn’t Blight the entirety of Orgrimmar. It wasn’t the civilians’ fault that the Warchief was an incompetent, bumbling nitwit. He had demanded, once again, that she make space in the Undercity for the druid and shaman trainers. And again, she reminded him that they complained of conditions in the Undercity and suggested they move the trainers to other settlements in her lands. Silverpine or Hillsbrad would suit them better.

“The Undercity is a central travel hub, much like Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff. We have trainers for any undead that come into our cities. It is only right that the druids and shamans have a presence in the Eastern Kingdoms.”

It took all her effort not to snarl. “With all due respect Warchief, Lordaeron is quite different from Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff in terms of atmosphere. We have set up the translocation orb and Lor’themar has established druids, shamans, and warrior trainers in Silvermoon. Entrance into the Undercity isn’t even a requirement. The additional travellers will raise Silvermoon’s revenue and - ”

Thrall grunted at her. “Your concerns are noted, Sylvanas, but you are not a part of Silvermoon any longer.”

Of all the things he could have said to her, that rankled the worst. She clenched her teeth. “While I may not hold the same position, the Forsaken have worked closely with the sin’dorei to restore their lands since the invasion. Quel’thalas is Lordaeron’s closest neighbor in the Horde. It is in our best interests to see to the restoration.”

Thrall exchanged looks with Vol’jin and Cairne. Of course the three of them sat together at one side of the table while she remained apart. Lor’themar had declined the summons, citing issues with the Scourge, and left her to the mercy of those fools. While Vol’jin was mildly tolerable, Carine was sanctimonious at the best of times and patronizing at the worst. It was no wonder he and Thrall were such good friends. They pressed on with the meeting and her protests or solutions were ignored or dismissed as per usual.

She left in a cloud of black fury that even Nathanos raised both brows at. “Open the portals.”

The mages jumped to obey and soon the Undercity welcomed her with its cool quiet, familiar scents and winding passageways. After stalking through the Apothecarium to the Royal Quarter, she mounted the dais of her throne room. One of her Dark Rangers approached her. She shot her a glare in warning. Anya halted, eyes wide, and quickly bowed.

“Forgive me, my queen, but I have a report regarding Priestess Ambershield.”

“And you could not merely deliver a written report to my office, ranger?” Sylvanas hissed.

“It’s a verbal report. From a warrior. Recently freed by the priestess and her party from the Scarlet Monastery.”

She straightened, her ire fading in the wake of the news. “Is he one of ours?”

Anya nodded.

“Bring him.”

Her barked command sent Anya skittering to obey. She returned through the main doors with a pair trailing behind her. A battered Forsaken stood close to a sin’dorei priestess. For a moment her chest tightened. But the long curtain of glossy black hair hung straight and had none of the dark purple tint that appeared under the light. She relaxed minutely and settled on her throne. A closer look revealed bandages hidden on certain parts of his body, white and pristine, and he favored his right leg. He wore leather and cloth fatigues rather than mail or plate but still carried his sword at his side.

“Report.”

He snapped to attention. “Gunnar Marston, Dark Lady.” He saluted her. “Here to debrief about my capture by the Scarlet Crusade.”

“And your companion?” Her gaze switched to the priestess, who inclined her head.

“Lenora Shadowsinger, Your Majesty.”

Brushing her presence aside, Sylvanas focused on Marston as he gave his report. The priestess remained ever at his side, an arm around his waist, and if Sylvanas didn’t know better, she would have sworn the slender girl kept him upright. She showed no disgust at being so close to what was essentially a magically-preserved corpse. It reminded her of - she slammed the door on that thought. Nathanos stepped up to question him further, drilling for details about the layout of the cathedral and grounds.

“Why do you accompany him, priestess?” Sylvanas cut in, ignoring Nathanos’ annoyed glare.

“I beg your pardon?”

Her eyes narrowed at the lack of title or respect. If anything, Shadowsinger dared to sound offended. “It is a simple question. What is your business with one of my warriors? Why would the Crusade take you as well?”

The girl flushed but pulled herself upright. “He is my lover, Lady Windrunner.”

“Starlight,” he murmured and shook his head. “Forgive her Dark Lady,” Marston continued and bowed. “There was an altercation before we left the cathedral and we are both still unsettled by it.”

“Explain. Now.”

Marston hesitated. Glanced at his so-called lover. He swallowed. Sylvanas bristled. Did the slip of a girl have such a hold on him that he forgot his duty to her? She smelled Isoldera’s influence.

“Your queen gave you an order, soldier.”

“Gunnar, it’s alright. Say something,” Shadowsinger urged.

He sighed. “Fine, but it was just another stupid paladin. After my wounds were healed, Lenora and I made our way up to rejoin the others. We caught the tail end of the argument where Izz - Priestess Ambershield argued with Paladin Sunseeker. She claimed that the elves and undead were more alike than one would think.”

Nathanos guffawed. “Oh really? And how is that?”

The priestess glared at him. “When the paladin quipped that she never thought of eating another human being, Izzy pointed out that elves were just as addicted to arcane magic. Those of us left are only a few crystals away from deteriorating into the wretched just like the undead could deteriorate back into Scourge.”

Sylvanas rose from her throne. She sifted through every word, searching for underlying meaning. How could one of the living have such a view on the Forsaken? Shadowsinger shifted. She stood taller and curled her arm tighter around him. Protecting him. It would have been laughable if it didn’t perplex her so much.

“We don’t know what happened after they left the Undercity. Izzy and Desi got into some sort of a fight and Izzy decided to split off from them. She didn’t give me the details but that’s what led her to stay in Brill,” Shadowsinger finished.

The priestess had fire in her. But she needed to speak with Marston alone. “Anya, remove the priestess. I require a private word with Marston.”

Shadowsinger protested of course but didn’t fight as she was escorted out. Marston steadied himself on his feet but his shoulders hunched and his right knee clicked when he shifted. Perhaps she had been holding him up that whole time. Once the priestess was gone, Sylvanas focused all of her attention on the warrior.

“What was your impression of Priestess Ambershield?”

He rubbed his hands together. “At first I thought she’d be like other religious nuts. Light-drunk. Sanctimonious and judgmental. But she was the first to ever accept Lenora and I without question. She leaped to our defense but there was no pity or condescension. No desire to purify us or bring us back to the Light like some other idiots.” He curled his lip in disdain for a moment. “She just...she got it. She understood. I never would have thought of the whole ‘elves are addicted to magic’ thing as being similar to us. I didn’t even know they could degrade like we could, til Starlight told me.”

“And how did you and the priestess become so closely acquainted?”

If the undead could blush, he would have. Instead, he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a rather long story, Dark Lady. We’ve been traveling together for about three years. Found her in Silverpine shortly after the war. Or rather, she found me making mincemeat out of some Ambermill mages.”

Ambermill. The lone settlement in Silverpine that still catered to the Alliance. If it wasn’t for the strength of the Dalaran mages and guards, and the fact it was barely significant, she would have wiped it out long ago. Three years. How had she not known? The city registrar kept detailed records of every Forsaken who went out as an adventurer, if only to keep an accurate count of their population. She would have to retrieve the latest records and have one of her minions go through them.

“Dark Lady?”

“That is all, warrior. You’re dismissed.”

He bowed and limped out. Sylvanas crossed her arms and tapped her bicep. The tips of her gloves dug into her flesh but she barely felt the pressure, let alone any pain. “Find out if any other adventurers are travelling with the living. Focus on Lordaeron and our territories for now. If this becomes a pattern, we shall extend the search to Kalimdor.”

“Yes, my queen.” Nathanos saluted and departed to carry out her orders.

“Anya.”

She materialized and bowed. “Your majesty?”

“Bring me Innkeeper Renee.”

*** * * ***

Hallow’s End changed everything.

It started as a standard celebration. The Wickerman lit up the sky. She gave her speech to the rousing cheers of her subjects. If a few more of the living mingled with the crowd, she put it out of her mind. After the ceremony, she would retreat to her quarters, plot Arthas’ demise, and brood. The cowardly son of a bitch sealed himself away in Icecrown, rendering his body impervious to all damage. Despite the number of years that passed, the frozen throne remained out of reach. Unbreakable. She seethed as she rode from the festival grounds until a figure in a dark cloak approached their party.

“Make way for the Dark Lady!” Nathanos commanded.

The rider halted. “I seek a private word, Dark Lady. May we speak?”

The hood hadn’t been a hood at all, damn her. Sylvanas attempted to push her away but Isoldera remained as stubborn as her hair. She frowned. Or was it only stubbornness? There was a new set to the priestess’s shoulders. She carried herself with more confidence, chin held high, but the trembling in her hands belied her nerves. In the end, Sylvanas’ curiosity won out and she agreed to the meeting.

What followed was the most painful but powerful conversation she’d had in more than five years. While she tried to push Isoldera away again and again, the aggravating priestess broke through her walls with her wit and honesty. Her willingness to bare her throat to the proverbial wolf as she confessed all of her fears and doubts rendered Sylvanas speechless. As she explained, the picture became clearer. The years-long silence made more sense in the wake of Isoldera’s near death and recovery.

But Sylvanas hurt too.

She had half a decade of hurt and anger inside her and she lashed out. “You didn’t reach out to me once. Not even a letter to inform me you were alive. I resigned myself to forget you until you appeared in my throne room like a ghost to torment me.”

“I never meant - ”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your refusal to look at me. To touch me. You never hesitated - ” Sylvanas cut herself off and squared her shoulders. “Your words mean little when your actions are non existent.”

“For the love of,” Isoldera grumbled and took a breath. Sylvanas recognized the signs of her trying to control her tongue. A marked improvement. “I couldn’t look at you because you rejected me in front of dozens. I didn’t write to you because I was confused and hurt and didn’t know if you would even read it. I wanted to respect what I thought were your wishes and not bother you again.”

The harsh truth was, if Isoldera had written to her from the onset, Sylvanas doubted she would have responded. Not in the wake of rejection from her only living family, her peoples’ former allies, and the people she died to protect. And she could understand the need to let the wounds close, even if they didn’t heal. Her wounds would never heal but she had cauterized them and moved forward. Her ability to do so came from the curtain of indifference that hung between her and the world of the living. Isoldera had no such barrier. Moreover, Sylvanas had worked hard to drive her off. As Isoldera accepted her part in the breakdown in communication, she could do no less.

Fully prepared for rejection, anger, or hurt, Sylvanas held out her hand and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.

Isoldera sobbed. “Give me a minute? I need to push the Light back.”

Stunned, Sylvanas watched in silence as the priestess wrestled with the celestial power. Sweat broke over her brow and her body shook as Light flashed beneath her skin. Her brow pinched in pain but when Isoldera reached out, her touch was gentle and painless. Granted Sylvanas could barely feel the warmth of her skin or the pressure of her grip but the point remained. Isoldera did it. She pushed away the power that made her a healer. All for her. Just so she could touch her hand. Pale green eyes searched for any sign of discomfort. A healer’s gaze. A lover’s care. When Sylvanas didn’t react, Isoldera grew bolder and dared to draw the gauntlet from her hand.

“Your scar’s gone. From the quill sharpener.”

All of her scars had vanished when Arthas raised her in undeath. The only one that remained was the one made by Frostmourne. Every record of every hard fought battle or obstacle overcome or lesson learned wiped away in an instant. She stopped herself from pressing a hand to her chest where the mark of Frostmourne defiled her body.

“You still have your calluses.”

Sylvanas blinked. Yes. Yes, she did. While Arthas took almost everything from her, he could not take her skill with a bow. A skill that was nearly his undergoing. Her arrow always struck true. If it hadn’t been for her desire to see him suffer, victory would have been hers. Still, on the eve of her liberation, she appreciated the gentle reminder that all was not lost. Even if that hadn’t been Isoldera’s intention.

“Vana? Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

Isoldera’s voice broke. The slight horror in her eyes and the strain of tension in her body betrayed her emotions. Her little light wore her heart for all to see and in that moment, Sylvanas saw the forming cracks. Isoldera radiated distress at the thought of hurting or betraying her. How long had it been since someone dared to ask if she was alright? Or looked at her with such kindness and concern?

“I can see that foolish heart of yours breaking in your eyes.” Sylvanas pulled every word from the tightness in her throat and forced her voice to remain flat. “Feel you shake with the effort of suppressing your power. Yet you ask after my health. My comfort.”

It had to be a trick. No one could ever look at her like that. Not anymore. The priestess’s eyes softened with tears. Sylvanas stiffened. If she sensed even one iota of pity, she would destroy her.

Isoldera cupped her cheek.

She froze. One touch, freely given, threatened to undo all of her measures of keeping her composure. It had been so, so long. She wanted to lean into that tender touch, knowing her little light would be there to catch her. Isoldera stroked her thumb over her cheek.

“One chance.”

Isoldera’s eyes widened with hope. “Vana?”

With smooth, familiar motions, she captured the shorter woman’s chin and tilted her head back. “I shall give you one chance to prove your sincerity. You plan to travel beyond the Dark Portal.” Isoldera’s mouth fell open and she smirked. “Yes, little light, I know everything.” Her little meeting with Renee and subsequent communication ensured that. “And I understand the need to slay demons of the past.”

While she understood, she also wasn’t so quick to forgive. She wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten again. As Isoldera swore to come back, to write, a tiny thread of hope wrapped itself around the spikes and brambles surrounding what remained of her heart. In the wake of her beautiful smile and pure joy, Sylvanas could only look away as she admitted her own truth about the letters. The wounds of loss and betrayal had been too fresh then. They festered still. But her little light was a skilled healer. Perhaps…

Isoldera smiled. “It’s not easy being queen.”

The commiserating tone, hell, the acknowledgement of all her struggles and pain over the years was more kindness than she ever expected from the living. Praise for her achievements. Recognition of how far she’d come. Even the slight tease at the end and likening her to the Titans since she wasn’t mortal any longer was welcome because it wasn’t pity. It was normal. Isoldera spoke with her as if she was still among the living. As if they stood in the woods as part of a secret meeting away from prying eyes. Such a small but intoxicating thing.

Sylvanas threaded her fingers through the seething mass of curls. The strands glided like silk over her bare hand and she lamented that she couldn’t truly feel its weight and softness any longer. Isoldera gasped and took a small step closer. She tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded and heavy with invitation, but she waited for Sylvanas to decide. A hand, no longer soft-palmed and delicate, rested on her shoulder. No hesitation. No reaction to the coldness of her skin. Just pure need. For her. Sylvanas did the only thing she could.

She kissed her.

At the first cry, Sylvanas nearly tore herself away in shocked betrayal but Isoldera wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace and pulled her closer. That was all the encouragement she needed. She dove into her little light’s mouth and did her damnedest to taste her again. To feel her heat and the pounding of her heart. Frustration built as her muted senses were unable to enjoy the sensations as keenly as before. Isoldera’s lip caught between their fangs and the tiny drop of blood ignited her taste buds.

Her fingers dug into the priestess’s full, graceful hips as she sought another swipe of blood. The arcane magic and slight touch of fel lit up her nerves with heat and for a moment, she felt blissfully alive. Sylvanas chased that sensation as she marvelled over the changes in her little light. She always possessed soft, beautiful curves but her body had toned and strengthened over months of travel. The combination fascinated and amused her. It was much like Isoldera herself with her soft heart supported by a will of steel. All of it capped off by the slight tang of blood that gave her flashes of feeling.

It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Isoldera’s breathing became labored and she pulled back. “I’m sorry. The Light - the Light’s trying to break free.”

The priestess stumbled away and Sylvanas scowled. As if that cursed entity hadn’t harmed her or her people enough, it threatened to separate her from the one person who showed her more kindness and love since her death than anyone else on Azeroth. Her hands balled into fists. She could not allow that. But Isoldera was a weakness she couldn’t afford to have and yet wanted anyway. She needed time to think, to plan without distraction. A momentary indulgence was one thing. Anything long term was another.

“As long as it dwells within you, you cannot touch me.”

“Then I’ll kick that bitch out. I’ll find another way to be a healer. Because I’m not going another lifetime without kissing you again.”

A small, bemused smile cracked Sylvanas’s mask. “You are stubborn and stupid enough to make such a bold claim and actually succeed. I look forward to the results of your endeavor. And your first letter.”

She had to leave before the priestess could shatter her walls. Sylvanas mounted her warhorse and rode for the sewers. Part of her ached to pull Isoldera back into her arms, Light be damned. The other part demanded she push the priestess away. She had to keep her distance if she wanted to remain in control of herself. Of her kingdom, her people. As much as she relished the fact that Isoldera didn’t look at her with disgust, pity, or suspicion, that same tender heart could be used against the Forsaken. Against her.

“You seemed in a rather forgiving mood considering the circumstances.”

Nathanos’ deliberately bland tone fooled absolutely no one. “The priestess is placated. I won’t have to concern myself with unwanted shows of emotion in my throne room.” Sylvanas bypassed the throne to the residential quarters beyond.

“From who? The wench or yourself?”

She glared at him with all the fury she could muster. “You’re an ass.”

Nathanos shrugged. Alone in the Royal Quarter for the moment, her champion and old friend’s snark came out in full force. While she wanted to savor the memory of her reunion with Isoldera, and the taste of her blood in particular, his presence reminded her that she wouldn’t be alone for long. A slow, wicked smirk formed on her lips.

“Nathanos, the Apothecarium has been in a state of disarray for some time. Since you are so keen to involve yourself in my affairs, you shall oversee the administrative efforts when not tending to your duties as Ranger Lord.”

She kept her tone sugar sweet and almost cackled at the sour look on his face. With a wave of her hand, she made her way to her private office. If Isoldera kept her word, perhaps things would be different. Perhaps she wouldn’t always be so alone. Her elation faded as her pessimism reared its head. Isoldera hesitated to reach out to her before. She couldn’t count on a promise made in the heat of the moment.

Life, and the living, taught her the folly of that.

At least she’d kissed a beautiful woman, something she hadn’t done for years. A beautiful woman who still adored her. She smiled and trailed a finger over her lower lip. Not a bad way to end the holiday at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude to look at things from Sylvanas' perspective. There'll probably be 2 more interlude chapters before we dive into Outland, as I need to do a bit of research and timeline squishing in the interim. Hope everyone had a safe and sane Halloween and for my readers in the US, that you're being extra gentle with yourselves this week.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for stopping by and reading. Your kudos and comments always make me smile ^^


	12. Interlude - Lo'Gosh & Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Some mentions of sexual assault.

**Year 25-26**

  
Renee kicked her out of the kitchen after an incident with cake batter, honey, and one very sick Forsaken. Izzy apologized over and over again to Gunnar while Lenora laughed and healed him up but the innkeeper was less than pleased by the mess. No apology soothed her wrath, which led to Izzy hiding out at Kav’s and commandeering his kitchen. She was sticky with honey and flour and a new batch of cake batter in the oven for the next guinea pigs slash taste testers but pleased as hell.  
  
“Tell me again why this isn’t part of your favor?” Kav’s voice was pained as he surveyed his domain.  
  
“Because you love me and I want to get this recipe right in time for next Winter’s Veil. Can’t have the people it's intended for getting sick off it.”  
  
He snorted. “She’s not worth it if you ask me. Making you swear that ridiculous oath - ”  
  
Izzy whirled and jabbed her wooden spoon at him. “One more word and I’ll give you the worst case of food poisoning you could ever dream about.” She threw it into the sink and turned on the water for dishes. “She didn’t make me do anything. I made the promise of my own free will.”  
  
“That may be but she had years to reach out to you. Communication goes both ways, Zeezee.”  
  
Izzy groaned and kept washing.  
  
“Don’t give me that.”  
  
She ignored him as best she could but his words rang true. The smells of honey cake and gingerbread filled the room, occasionally cut through with a chilly draft. In between Hallow’s End and a week ago, she’d been in the deserts of Silithus assisting the war effort. Once whispers started up about a floating necropolis in the Plaguelands, Izzy headed back to Brill to be on hand to help. The Argent Dawn gave her a few days’ leave for Winter’s Veil that week and it was during her first day off she destroyed Renee’s kitchen. Kav kept his word though. Even in Silithus, his agents found her to deliver her bi-weekly letters to Sylvanas and occasionally carry one back to her.  
  
Rumor had it that they left them right in her personal office and the breach of security had Nathanos in an uproar.  
  
Izzy planned to give him an old, extremely potent bottle of cognac as a pseudo-apology. No matter what havoc it caused, she needed to make sure she kept her word. She sighed as she considered her next assignment once her leave was done. Even though baking distracted her at the best of times, too many thoughts crammed themselves into her head. Kav didn’t help with his constant poking and prodding.  
  
“Zeezee.”  
  
“What do you want me to say?” She slammed a bowl down on the counter, scattering water everywhere. “Mother fucking son of a - mmn.” She growled and grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.  
  
Kav sighed and pulled her to her feet. “Take care of this,” he barked to the servants and dragged her out.  
  
She snarled at him several times but he refused to let go. They passed into the guard wing and he shoved her into the training area.  
  
“Give her a mace and some armor. Exhaust her but don’t permanently injure her. I’ll be back in an hour.”  
  
He turned on his heel and marched off before she could yell at him. Falcon chuckled and tossed her a mace. No armor. Izzy grinned and dove in. For an hour she fought with elves, orcs, tauren, and even an undead or two. By the time Kav sent a few of his whores to drag her sorry ass to the baths, her limbs wobbled worse than a newborn foal. The human man and elf woman laughed as they dumped her into the tubs to be washed, massaged, lotioned, and eventually dressed before shoving her out. Thank Belore enough feeling returned to her legs she could walk out on her own.  
  
“Feeling less bitchy now?” Kav drawled.  
  
“Asks the biggest bitch of them all.” Izzy yawned and glanced around. “What’re you doing in my bedroom?”  
  
“Merely here to reassure myself you’re back to normal and let you know your latest letter is being delivered.” He wrinkled his nose and muttered. “Against my better judgment but what do I know?”  
  
Izzy flopped onto her bed, burrowing in the plump pillows and silk blanket she’d embroidered herself. “You’ve done nothing but bitch since Hallow’s End. What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d be happy for me.”  
  
“I’m not convinced this was for the best. Sylvanas has a lot of power over you. Who’s to say she won’t try to use it?”  
  
She grumbled in response.  
  
He huffed. “I could think of a million ways she could use her power as the Banshee Queen to hurt, injure, or humiliate you. Then there’s the million more that come with her breaking your heart.”  
  
Izzy flinched at the reminder. She didn’t owe him an answer but she gave it because it was Kav. “I’m not stupid. I’m not going into this believing that she and I can pick up right where we left off. With my leaving as soon as the Dark Portal reopens, the best I can hope for is to prove I’m sincere.”  
  
At the same time, she could see if Sylvanas responded to her overtures. The kiss they shared had been everything Izzy hoped for in their reunion. Acknowledgment. Connection. Passion. But mindful of her limited time on Azeroth, Sylvanas’ position as queen, and the freshness of opening old wounds, Izzy didn’t try to further the physical connection. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Whenever she went through the portal, she didn’t know how long it would take for her to finish things with her mother.  
  
“About that.”  
  
The serious timber in his voice made her sit up and meet his eyes. His lips pressed tight together and his grip on the back of a chair whitened his knuckles. Her stomach swooped. She clutched her robe with tight fists.  
  
“It’s open,” he said, bitterness in every word. “Aunt Callidora has already sent me correspondence.”  
  
She closed her eyes and nodded.  
  
“You know, I haven’t given you your Winter’s Veil gift yet.” He leaned on his arm against the back of the chair. “I suppose in the spirit of the season I could be generous and offer to deliver any last messages you wish to send to your motley collection of friends. Or perhaps a special friend.”  
  
Izzy’s cheeks flamed. “I never should have told you about him,” she grumbled.  
  
Kav’s grin was all teeth.  
  
She shot him a glare. “If I’m not pursuing Sylvanas then I sure as hell am not going after Lo’Gosh.” Even if she still saw his blue eyes in her dreams and couldn’t help imagine what his powerful hands would feel like on her body. “But maybe a letter…”  
  
“I’ll leave you to it, cousin.”  
  
Before he could saunter out, she shot from the bed and hugged him from behind. He smelled of expensive cologne, cedar and citrus, and his fall of smooth, silky hair pressed against her cheek. He stiffened, old rogue instincts about being grabbed from behind flaring, before he sighed dramatically and patted her hands.  
  
“You’re overreacting. It’s not as though you’re leaving tomorrow.” When she didn’t respond, he paused. “You are.”  
  
“I’m sorry. If I don’t deal with her now - ”  
  
“She’ll remain a constant shadow.” Kav sighed again and turned, hugging her tight. “We all have demons to slay.”  
  
Izzy sniffed, chest and throat tight. As much as she wanted to stay, she had to go. She refused to live her life under her mother’s thumb after everything she’d seen and done since the fall of Quel’thalas. Kav stroked the small of her back, his grip tight, as if he could keep her there through will alone. It coaxed a laugh from her. If anyone could do it, she’d place her bets on Kav. Or Lo’Gosh. Or Sylvanas. On second thought, she’d have to bet on all of them. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she pulled back with a sniffle.  
  
“No fuss, no tears, no blubbering all over your good shirt,” she teased and wiped her eyes with the backs of her fingers.  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Stop being a diva. That’s my job.” He hugged her again. “Take care, cousin. Don’t forget me in all of your letter writing or I’ll have to send some of my agents after you.”  
  
She laughed and nodded. He kissed the top of her head and left, closing the door quietly behind him. It was such a Kav thing to do, sweep out like a king, completely in control, that it made her tears fall thick and fast down her cheeks. Belore, she was going to miss him. More reason to come back. Adjusting her robe, she settled herself at her desk and started penning the first of many letters.

* * *

**Lo'Gosh - Nine Months Prior**

He didn’t fear death. In the arena, death remained a close companion. Almost as close as Broll and Valeera.  
  
Lo’Gosh the Ghost Wolf, slave to an orc, and a man without memory, believed his fate sealed when he took the blow meant for Broll. The blade buried in his gut. The burn of poison. His vision swam but no near-death memory surfaced. He snarled as he fell. While he didn’t fear death, he didn’t want it either. Too many questions remained unanswered and he refused to die like a mongrel in his current hell. As the darkness closed in, he lunged with his sword and plunged it into the ogre.  
  
A gut wound for a gut wound.  
  
After that, nothing.  
  
Voices and glimpses of light occasionally tried to stir him to consciousness but he struggled to respond. A voice, feminine and sharp, snapped, “You’re messing with my patient - ” Fog closed in again. “ - I’m the bitch in charge.”  
  
Another voice. Rehgar. If he could have, he would’ve curled his lip in disgust. Maybe take his sword to him after tossing him into the ring with another ogre. Soft golden light washed over him and he drifted deeper into sleep. As he floated in darkness, he dreamed. Dreamed of blue skies and white stone walls. A city, beautiful and grand, and a castle with spires that seemed to rise into the sky. Someone stood on the steps. A woman. The sun struck her blonde hair and she held something in her arms. She reached for him -  
  
His hand shot out and closed over a delicate wrist. Straight blonde strands morphed into black curls that whipped around pale green eyes. Long, slender ears. Full lips. White robe. The healer.  
  
“Welcome back.” Her husky voice was low and soothing, like he didn’t have her wrist in a death grip. “You’re in the infirmary under the Orgrimmar arena. Do you remember how you got here?”  
  
Orgrimmar. He frowned and sorted through his most recent memories. The ogre. Cheering crowds. Pain and darkness. His hand flexed and relaxed as he judged whether she was a threat or not. Just because she ran off Rehgar didn’t mean she could be trusted. She waited, a small smile hovering on her lips, but made no move to touch or attack him. His flagging strength drained the longer he held on. His body’s reminder that it recently survived a life-threatening injury and required more rest. He would give her the benefit of a doubt for the moment. If she tried anything, she’d regret it. He released her wrist.  
  
“I’m going to wash and re-bandage your wound. Don’t go anywhere.”  
  
He scowled. She must have been a trainee. No proper healer would tease their patient like that. When she came back with a blanket, he watched her every move. She draped it over his lower body and even ensured it covered his feet. The soft, worn fabric brushed his bare skin and he stiffened. They’d stripped him. The violation burned as much as the bile that rose in his throat. He ached for his sword. A knife. A club. Anything to protect himself. If they stripped him, what stopped them from doing more? He wouldn’t let her - wouldn’t let anyone - touch him, not again, he’d kill them first, rend, tear -  
  
“Look at me. Look at me, Lo’Gosh.” Her firm tone pierced his spiral. Something soft tickled his bare chest. Her hair. It created a curtain around them, shut out the world, and allowed him to focus on her face. Her voice. The scents of mageroyal and spices. “All I’m going to do is take these scissors, cut your bandages, clean up your wound, then put fresh bandages on you. You’re my patient. I’d never hurt you.”  
  
That didn’t comfort him. If anything, it only made him more suspicious. There were others who claimed they would never hurt him. A few “special clients” that bought his nights from Rehgar actually treated him decently. Like a lover or a tragic, romantic figure. But it was all a lie. A cruel joke. He knew better than anyone that kindness could be faked and no matter how beautiful the healer was, Lo’Gosh wouldn’t be fooled by a pretty face. Yet she did nothing except change his bandages and clean his wounds with gentle but professional hands and hummed a low tune under her breath.  
  
“Were you the one who chased Rehgar out?” The question slipped out before he could stop himself and he coughed, throat dry and tacky.  
  
She fetched him water and nodded. “I am.” She hovered at his side. “I need to support your head. Is that alright?”  
  
His eyes widened briefly. The way she hesitated, the fact that she asked to touch him, shocked him to the core. He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked his permission before touching him. Without thinking, he nodded. She cupped the back of his head and supported his weight with surprising strength as she helped him drink. When she lowered his head carefully onto the pillow, he allowed himself to sigh. Fingers with calluses brushed his bangs away from his eyes. He scowled at her.  
  
“Sorry.” She pulled her hand back immediately.  
  
Her instant apology calmed his rising temper and he settled again. “My thanks.” The words tasted odd and he scrambled to cover them up. “That bastard loves to hear himself talk.”  
  
“An ass of an orc if I’ve ever met one. He deserves a thrashing.”  
  
The idea of the healer beating Rehgar to within an inch of his life almost got a laugh out of him. If the calluses on her hands meant anything, she might have been able to do it. She bustled about, friendly and efficient, cleaning things up and making sure he was comfortable. His eyes drooped. Exhaustion clawed at him but he didn’t trust her enough to sleep yet. When she pulled the blanket up and around his chest, he shot her a warning look but she didn’t do anything except tuck the edges around him. He tensed slightly. Even if it was only a blanket, it still restricted his movements. He shifted until he could at least get his arms over the fabric even if it was colder.  
  
“Too warm?”  
  
Her innocent tone got her a raised brow but she just chuckled at him, absolutely fearless against his temper.  
  
“Get some rest then, Lo’Gosh. If you’re good, I’ll sing you a lullaby,” she teased.  
  
A sound suspiciously close to a laugh escaped him. “Haven’t I suffered enough? I thought healers took oaths not to harm their patients.”  
  
Her sputtering shouldn’t have been that attractive. And her soft, girlish giggle shouldn’t have sent a spark through him he thought long snuffed out after Rehgar sold him that first night. As if summoned, dark memories he kept locked in the deepest part of his mind lashed out. Hands reaching everywhere. Darkness. They covered his eyes. Yanked his hair. Forced him down to submit in ways that made him rage like a rabid, caged wolf. Helpless, impotent fury howled within him. Someone kill him. Save him. Lo’Gosh, champion of the Crimson Ring, was no champion. Lies. All lies.  
  
He hated it.  
  
He hated himself.  
  
A chair thudded and it jerked him out of the shame and self-loathing that threatened to swallow him whole.  
  
Soft, warm light from a lantern illuminated the priestess as she sat and sewed. She still hummed that same tune but softer. More like a lullabye, just like she threatened. The simple melody and repetition gave him something to focus on and he sighed. In that moment, he’d never been more grateful for a stranger’s presence. He took several deep breaths as he continued to calm himself and his panic eased. Carefully, he unclenched his hands from the blanket and flexed his stiff, tingling fingers.  
  
“I still don’t know your name.” Her surprised squeak made him smirk. “You elves have long, fancy names. What’s yours?”  
  
“Names don’t come cheap and I’m trying to live up to mine. Not quite there yet.” Something in her tone piqued his curiosity but she continued before he could ask. “For now, I’m just Izzy. I like your new name though. It suits you.”  
  
Ah yes. The last time he was injured, his name had still been Croc Bait. “I earned it through my blood. My skill. I want to earn yours.”  
  
He truly did, which unsettled him. She showed him the first tastes of kindness and respect he could remember. He wanted to honor her for that. The way she didn’t look at him with pity or sorrow, her humor, and yes, even her beauty, coaxed him out of the fortress he’d built around himself. It was the only way to survive the constant battle. The abuse. The weight of the chains around his neck and wrists. Fabric rustled and his eyes caught a glimpse of his trousers. Something pinched in his stomach when he realized she was mending them. It wasn’t her job as a healer so why bother?  
  
Unless she truly was that kind.  
  
“It feels wrong to not know the name of the woman who saved my life.”  
  
Her smile lit up the room. It stirred him in ways he didn’t want because as soon as the dawn came, he would never see her again. But he argued with himself, wasn’t it better to seize any moment he had with a kind, beautiful woman? A moment didn’t make up for the holes in his life but it was better than nothing. Lo’Gosh would live and die in the arena. At least he would have her memory. Clear, perfect memories that were his and his alone, not from the nebulous past he wasn’t even sure existed sometimes.  
  
“Let’s play a game, Lo’Gosh.” Her light, playful tone did interesting things to his pulse. “If you guess my first name before sunrise, I’ll give you my family name and a kiss.”  
  
A kiss? Nerves clenched in his gut but his blood heated. “Deal.”  
  
“Deal. What’s your first guess?”  
  
“Isabelle.”  
  
She laughed. “Too obvious. Next.”  
  
It went on throughout the night, their guessing game. Occasionally she would break to check on Broll and Valeera, adjust any bedding that had been kicked off, and administer healing if needed before rejoining him. She showed the same care and kindness to his teammates as she did to him. It made him ache. It made him suspicious. No one could be that kind. Not without personal motives. Against his will, Lo’Gosh found himself drifting into sleep on occasion. Every time he woke up, sweating and reaching for his weapon, she was at his side to coax him back down and remind him of their game.  
  
A distraction. A blessing. If it was all an act, it was a good one. Well practiced and rehearsed.  
  
Eventually, against his will, he slept deep and long and didn’t wake again until Rehgar stormed into the room. Lo’Gosh snapped to consciousness and took in his surroundings. Two guards. Rehgar. The priestess’s long fall of hair blocked the slave master from him. She planted herself in front of him and held out her arm. Like she could block the green-skinned bastard or his lackies from reaching him. His fully mended trousers and shirt lay on his blanket. His heart twisted. Their time was up.  
  
“No!” She shook her head, curls flying. “He needs more time. He has a fucking gut wound, his muscles - ”  
  
“That’s enough.” An old undead appeared at her elbow, expression grim. “He’s Rehgar’s slave, girlie. It’s his right to take him.”  
  
“He’s my patient. We’re healers, Archie. We made vows.”  
  
Lo’Gosh clocked the positions of the guards. Their hands rested on their weapons. Lightning sparked around Rehgar’s fingers. If she didn’t back down, they would kill her and damn the consequences. He couldn’t allow that. She had been his light in the darkness last night. Now he would be her shield. He grabbed her wrist. She whirled around, his name on her lips, and he barely suppressed a shudder at how fucking good it sounded. For a while he stared at nothing and just savored it. He wanted to commit everything to memory because the minute he stepped out those doors, Rehgar would do his damnedest to make sure he was “reeducated” as to what his place was. The glare she shot at the green-skinned pig would have melted flesh.  
  
The glimpse of a fierce gladiator under those healer’s robes made his next actions even harder.  
  
He had to surrender willingly, if only to spare her life. Healing magic coursed through him, carrying her warmth and power, and Lo’Gosh basked in it. His fatigue vanished. None of his muscles protested when he sat up and faced her, the blanket still covering him below the waist. Her pale green eyes were overbright and her full lips pinched as she clung to his hand. He squeezed it back.  
  
“One last guess, Ghost Wolf,” she whispered.  
  
Slowly, he drank her in from head to toe. He tried to sear her image in his memory so that, maybe, she could be his light again. Over the past few hours he guessed everything from the logical to the absurd and hadn’t come close. Maybe he wasn’t thinking like an elf. Something whispered in his mind. A ghost of a memory but it gave the spark of inspiration for him to try one last time.  
  
“Isadora?”  
  
When she stiffened, the failure sucker punched him in the chest. He couldn’t breathe. But he must have been close. She swallowed her tears, her anger, and closed her eyes. Long lashes brushed her full cheek and he brushed his thumb across the soft curve. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly, and she squeezed his hand tighter. She wanted him. He burned for her but he refused to give Rehgar the satisfaction.  
  
“Your name. Please.”  
  
His voice was rough and soft in his ears. It was selfish, he knew that, to ask for more after she had given him so much. But he ached for her true name the way he occasionally yearned for his own. She clutched his hand in both of hers and murmured a blessing. The warm puffs of her breath were so close. A bit more and her lips would be against his knuckles. But she stepped away and handed him his trousers, her arm trembling as she did so. Disappointment kicked him in the gut but he nodded, accepting her decision. Stupid of him to hope. He reached for his pants but she didn’t let them go.  
  
“Find me again, Ghost Wolf. Find me and I’ll tell you.” She backed away, fingers trailing from the fabric. “Al diel shala.”  
  
Her last words lit a fire in him. Even when Rehgar dragged him, Broll, and Valeera back to the ring, even during the torture disguised as “reeducation,” her words echoed. Find her again and he’d know. If he wanted to find her, he needed to find himself first. Lo’Gosh stumbled and staggered back to the cell where Broll and Valeera waited for him and collapsed in the druid’s arms. Nature magic washed over the worst of his wounds but the collar and cuffs kept Broll from accessing his full strength. He growled. Another thing those damned orcs stole. No more. He was going to escape.  
  
They were all going to escape.

* * *

**Winter's Veil**

After a trip to the Pools of Reflection in Thunder Bluff, he and Broll escaped Rehgar’s grip and fled across the plains of Kalimdor in search of answers. From furbolgs to night elves, their adventures eventually led them to seek out Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore Isle. They fought off assassins, reunited with Valeera, and traveled across the length and breadth of the continent before finally meeting the legendary mage. In the safety of her tower, she unlocked memories both old and new: a fire, a sea voyage, his son, his wife, and anguish. Years of depression before the drive to live returned. Another sea journey. He was needed somewhere. Somewhere -  
  
“Theramore.” The word dragged itself from the darkness of his past. His eyes flew open. “I was going to Theramore.”  
  
That declaration sealed his fate.  
  
He found his past. His name.  
  
He was Varian Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, and ruler of Stormwind.  
  
His son - Anduin - yes, named for a paladin, a mentor - waited for him. He needed to return. To find his enemies and destroy them. Save Anduin. Protect him from the fate that met his mother.  
  
Tiffin.  
  
His beautiful, vibrant Tiffin, struck down in a moment of senseless violence. Only luck spared their infant son from dying as his mother collapsed. Flashes of her funeral came back to him and a different woman with dark hair and dark eyes offering him comfort. But her comfort rang false with betrayal and hidden motives. Her dark beauty masked a black heart and that night as he slept in the rooms provided by Jaina, nightmares pulled him deep.  
  
Back to the arena. To the dark days after Tiffin’s death. His father’s murder. The last “special client” Rehgar forced him to entertain. He shot awake, sword in hand, ready to fight against those grasping, greedy hands.  
  
Nothing. A quiet, secure room. A soft, clean bed. Lo’Gosh buried his face in his hand and breathed. Varian. His name was Varian. He’d have to get used to it eventually. Growling, he shoved himself out of the bed and made his way to the sitting room. Everyone else had retired for the night but a fire still glowed, banked and low. He settled in a chair, his jaw and hands clenched. Too many conflicting images and memories rattled around in his head until he didn’t know which way was up.  
  
He hadn’t felt so twisted up inside since the night he met the healer he’d taken to calling Isadora.  
  
It wasn’t her name, he knew that, but it was his closest guess. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Images of Isadora’s black curls morphed into Katrana’s straight locks, which melted into Tiffin’s golden hair. Green eyes. Black eyes. Blue eyes. His memories of the priestess stood out though. They were more vivid and visceral. He still remembered the warmth of her hand and the way she fought for him against impossible odds. But he had married Tiffin and had a son by her. Was he betraying her by longing for Isadora’s presence to quiet the darkness in his mind? Or did he want Tiffin back to warm his heart?  
  
He didn’t even know anymore.  
  
“You look like a man in need of a stiff drink,” a new voice commented.  
  
Lo’Gosh had his sword at the stranger’s throat in one fluid motion.  
  
“Whoa!” The stranger, human, and possibly a mage, stumbled back, his hands held up in surrender. “Easy there, I’m not here to assassinate my king.” He fished into his robe and pulled out a white envelope. “I’m here on behalf of my employer and was asked to pass this along to you.”  
  
He extended the letter but Lo’Gosh didn’t take it. If anything he was more tempted than ever to pitch it, and the mage, into the fire.  
  
“I went through no small amount of trouble to find you,” the mage insisted.  
  
“And who is your mysterious employer?”  
  
His smile turned sly. “It’s not really him you should ask about but the person requesting the delivery. She said names don’t come cheap.”  
  
Lightning streaked through him. He lunged and snatched the letter before the mage could yank it back. Ignoring the stranger for the moment, Lo’Gosh dropped into his chair. The hefty envelope rested in his palms and as he turned it over, he caught the scent of mageroyal and spices. It triggered a memory of black curls blocking out the world around him. Protecting him. He shuddered. She scrawled his name in the messy way of healers but with graceful swirls. One of his names.  
  
He shouldn’t open it but he itched for the comfort of that single night where he finally felt some kind of peace.  
  
“If I may?”  
  
His head shot up along with his sword. The mage rolled his eyes.  
  
“Skewer me and on your head be it. She’ll be so disappointed in you.” He leaned against the fireplace, in Lo’Gosh’s line of sight but away from the flames. “I don’t know if you’ve heard the news, being amnesiatic and on Kalimdor and all, but the Dark Portal’s reopened. Ask Lady Jaina about the last time that happened. Needless to say, Izzy’s already gone and she doesn’t know when, or if, she’ll return.”  
  
“You’re lying,” he snarled.  
  
“Wish I was. My advice? Wait until you’ve done whatever you need to do before you read that letter.” His expression darkened. “Stormwind’s in turmoil and it needs its king. Lady Prestor has driven off nearly all our allies and the ‘Varian Wrynn’ that returned with her is driving off the rest with his careless and flippant attitude. Your people? Your son? They all need you. Izzy doesn’t.”  
  
The bluntness hurt but nevertheless rang true. Isadora had her own core of strength, he’d seen it first hand. And as a king, he had responsibilities to others. He couldn’t think of his own desires first anymore but it also meant he didn’t have to give them up. He breathed in the smell of her perfume and for a moment he was back in the quiet infirmary with her. He could almost hear her voice, see the smile quirking her lips, and feel the softness of her skin. Those memories crowded out the darker ones and that had to be enough.  
  
He was king. He had to place Anduin and his people first.  
  
“Will you come back? A crown’s not an easy thing to bear. No one would blame you if you prefer the life of a gladiator.”  
  
He snorted. “The life of a slave, you mean.” He tucked the letter into his pocket. He’d find a safer place for it later. “Thank you for bringing this. Now rather than disturb Jaina, tell me other news of Stormwind and my son.”  
  
Brown eyes gleamed. “I see what Izzy meant when she said I was your Winter’s Veil gift.” He gave a sweeping, courtly bow. “Paxton Ashbough, son and heir of Duke Vincent Ashbough of Stormwind’s House of Lords at your service and with every drop of court news a king in hiding could want.”  
  
Lo’Gosh bared his teeth in a wolfish grin as the young noble from Stormwind gave him an in-depth account of everything that had passed in his absence. Occasionally, his hand would drift to his pocket and he’d feel the crisp edge of the letter. Someday. Someday he would open it and relive her memory. Until then, he had a dragon to slay.

* * *

  
Sylvanas eyed the package on her desk with amusement as Nathanos paced behind her. Isoldera warned her about the delivery methods and while she had tightened security, they somehow still managed to get through. Much to her champion’s ire. Not even Isoldera’s Winter’s Veil gift of a fine bottle of cognac could soften him.  
  
“If I ever see one of those so-called messengers, I’ll string him up by his entrails,” Nathanos raged. “How you continue to indulge that - ” He caught her wrathful glare and amended his word. “Wench is beyond me. She’s been nothing but trouble since the day you met her.”  
  
“Now, now, Nathanos, there’s no need to be jealous.” Sylvanas sauntered over to the desk and smirked at his sputter.  
  
“Jealous? Ha! If anything, I’m insulted that she thinks she can buy my favor with cognac when she knows I prefer whiskey.”  
  
Ignoring his rant for the moment, Sylvanas trailed a finger over the plain black paper. It could have been an ordinary package were it not for the silver satin ribbon tied in a festive bow and sprig of holly berries pinned to it. A Winter’s Veil gift. The first in five years. She smoothed her thumb over the ribbon before plucking the envelope with her name scrawled on it in Isoldera’s handwriting.  
  
After their initial meeting, Sylvanas kept her expectations low. With Isoldera’s mission to Outlands looming, the war effort in Kalimdor, and her own duties as Queen of the Forsaken, they had no time to meet again. Yet letters arrived as promised, even going so far as to be regular. Sylvanas even wrote back, when she could be bothered. Each of Isoldera’s carried news and anecdotes about the people she met, sharp observations of the war effort, and reports on any Forsaken, even though Sylvanas never asked. All of them were filled with Isoldera’s humor and warmth and a few managed to coax a laugh or two from her. Though she no longer abided sentiment, she found herself unable to part with the letters and kept them locked away in a secure trunk in her personal chambers.  
  
“Well?” Nathanos drawled. “Aren’t you going to open it?”  
  
“Before Winter’s Veil? That’s hardly keeping with the spirit of the season.” But she undid the ribbon and opened the paper. “Anar’alah…”  
  
The Thalassian slipped before she could stop it but she couldn’t bring herself to care overmuch as she took in her little light’s gift. An exquisitely tailored, black, hooded cloak made of sturdy but costly material. The wine red lining enhanced the color of her eyes and added a blush of life to her ash grey skin. When she examined it further, her fingers caught on delicate, subtle embroidery worked into the inner lining. A thorny vine entwined around roses, arrows, and skulls gleamed with enchantments. The silver clasp was simple but shaped like the Forsaken crest in exquisite detail.  
  
A cloak fit for a queen.  
  
“Now she’s just showing off,” Nathanos grouched but a small smirk lingered on his lips. “At least it’s an improvement over the last monstrosity she made you.”  
  
“She has improved in her craft, no doubt,” Sylvanas murmured, entranced by the subtle play of light over the fabric folds. “I’m sure if you asked nicely she would make one for you as well.”  
  
She unfastened her old, battle-worn cape and set it aside in favor of the new one. It settled over her shoulders and flowed down her back like water, lightweight and perfect for her height. Everything about it was perfect for her. A more personal, meaningful gift she hadn’t received since she still dwelled among the living. For a moment, she wanted to preen in front of a mirror.  
  
“Fuck, I thought I’d seen the last of your vanity.”  
  
She scowled at him. “It’s not wrong to appreciate a well-crafted piece of armor,” she countered.  
  
Her fingers trailed over the clasp, Nathanos’ taunt dousing her with the cold water of reality. The cloak was too lovely. Too perfect. If she wore it anywhere in the city, tongues would wag. Her anger rose. Why shouldn’t she seek some enjoyment in such a gift? She was Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, and she answered to no one. Let the plebeians talk. Gossip and hearsay were a daily part of her life as Ranger-General. She didn’t expect anything else now that she was a queen. Determined to enjoy her little light’s gift, she decided to wear it to the celebration in Orgrimmar.  
  
At the reminder of the feast and fete looming in her future, she glanced at the clock. An hour. Time enough to read Isoldera’s letter.  
  
“Prepare for our departure to Orgrimmar.”  
  
He eyed her. “And what will you be doing, my queen?”  
  
She didn’t answer. Instead, she settled herself into one of her comfortable chairs and opened the letter. While the package had appeared in her office that day, the letter was from three days ago. She frowned. Her hands shook as she read on. The dark portal reopened. Her little light was gone from Azeroth. But her gift remained and more letters would come. Hope, the stubborn thing it was, reared its careworn head. Sylvanas stroked the cloak. Until Isoldera returned, she wouldn’t risk damaging her gift. Once she returned from the Winter’s Veil feast, she planned to place the cloak in the locked chest, safe and secure.  
  
When she reached the bottom of the letter, she smiled. Next to Isoldera’s signature lay a kiss mark in dark red.  
  
Confident she was alone, Sylvanas smiled and pressed her lips to the letter. “Happy Winter’s Veil, little light.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interlude chapter! Only one left before we hit Outlands proper. Hope everyone is staying safe and sane, especially with the stress of the holidays coming up.
> 
> After I post next week's chapter, I'm going to take a brief break to finish hammering out the Outlands arc and come back with a new chapter on December 2nd. For those who celebrate, have a good Thanksgiving, and for those who don't, hope you have a great day anyway. Me, I'm staying safe in my apartment and treat myself to some pumpkin pie.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the hits, kudos, and comments. Seeing them in my inbox is always a highlight of my day ^^ See you next week!


	13. Interlude - Outlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *NEXT UPDATE 12/2*

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

Desi never thought she’d hear from Izzy again but one day, a letter mysteriously appeared in her private quarters. How anyone got by security in Tempest Keep baffled her. Ever since Prince Kael’thas went crazy after a blow up with Lord Illidan, it became harder and harder to sneak in. Or out.

Lady Liadrin warned her. Their prince had changed. He wasn’t the beacon of hope or leadership for their people any longer.

Why hadn’t she listened?

“Because I’m a dumbass,” she muttered and opened the letter.

She hid herself in a tiny storage closet, knees pressed to her chest, and read only by the glow of her eyes. Since coming to Outlands, her exposure to fel grew, which made her eyes brighter. More volatile. On the one hand, it meant less headaches from M’uru. She hardly felt the Naaru’s presence most days. On the other, it made her spells harder to wield. The fel energies stifled her connection to the M’uru and therefore the Light. The prince and his chief healer assured the remaining blood knights they would adjust but so far that hadn’t happened and Desi suspected it never would.

“Focus,” she admonished herself and read.

News, questions about her health and travels, all pretty basic, so why the special messenger? Did they know about the “security” measures the prince implemented? She skimmed the last paragraph until the most important piece of news smacked her in the face. Izzy was coming to Outlands. As excited as she was about that, dread pooled in her gut. She couldn’t bring Izzy to Tempest Keep. Which meant -

“I gotta get out of here. Shit,” she swore and folded up the letter.

She hid it well in her layers of cloth and armor before she slipped out of the closet. Keeping her pace slow and casual, Desi wandered the halls of Tempest Keep back to the blood knight barracks. Their tiny rooms had just enough space for a bed and a chest of drawers that doubled as a desk. Not the grandest room she’d ever had but the blankets were warm and the mattress decent. The clatter of plates and low chatter drew her to the mess hall. She’d check quick, make sure everyone was there (or a majority of them were at least) then go to her room, pack, and run.

It hadn’t been easy establishing residential quarters in Tempest Keep and most of the domestic work fell to the tall, black-haired woman in the middle of a cluster of elves. She flicked her wavy hair over her shoulder but it never stayed back for long. With a bowl in one hand and a soup spoon in the other, she circled the tables, serving and chatting with everyone there. One of the men reached out for a “playful” grab and got a whack with said spoon for his trouble. Desi snickered.

The woman turned, her green eyes brilliant and filled with fel fire. “There you are, I was worried about you. Better hurry up and grab a bowl or there won’t be any left.”

She shook her head. “Sorry ma’am but I got some - uh - some news from home.” Shit, she hadn’t thought of a cover story.

Healer Callie frowned and came closer, studying Desi with piercing eyes. “Not bad news, I hope?”

“Not...really.”

Desi swallowed back the urge to confess everything. Callidora Ambershield had been nothing but kind towards all of the pilgrims and refugees in Prince Kael’s service. She acted as healer, caregiver, and confidante, always with a bright smile and open ears. When she first met the older woman in Silvermoon after she delivered M’uru to the blood knights, Desi thought she was back with Izzy. She helped with their headaches and taught them how to siphon power from the Naaru in a more controlled fashion. After her falling out with Izzy, she went to the elder priestess for guidance and counsel. She shouldn’t feel so reluctant to tell her everything but she did and she didn’t know why.

“Desi? You’re clammy.” Healer Callie gently touched her cheeks and forehead. “Are you coming down with something? You know the prince expects all of his knights to be in peak condition.”

“No, no, it’s just - it isn’t bad news but - I don’t know.” She shrugged and rubbed the back of her head. “Maybe I could request some leave to go home.”

“You don’t have to bother Prince Kael about that. As your healer, I can clear you for necessary leave.” She set her bowl on the table and wrapped an arm around Desi’s shoulders. “Come with me and we’ll talk.”

Talk. Right. Nothing wrong with talking. She followed the healer to her study and took her usual spot on the well worn chaise. Being so far from home in a strange land meant a lot of time working through loneliness and homesickness for her and her peers. As Healer Callie bustled about and made tea, Desi twined her fingers together. She shook with nerves even as she berated herself for them. It was Healer Callie, for fuck’s sake. Izzy even said in her letter she planned to visit her mother when she came to Outlands. But something held her tongue and she couldn’t put her finger on what.

“How did you receive such news? I thought the new pilgrims weren’t scheduled to arrive until tomorrow.” A tea set appeared on the low table, swirls of steam and a slight sparkle of magic drifting into the air.

Desi almost salivated. While they had plenty of arcane magic to draw from, they still had to be mindful that their cravings didn’t destroy them. She swallowed and tightened her fingers. The question. Healer Callie asked her a question. Desi scrambled for a few seconds to remember and come up with a plausible story.

“Got it by verbal messenger with the food delivery this morning. Came outta nowhere,” she admitted.

“Bad news usually does.” She squeezed Desi’s shoulder and settled into the plush chair across from her.

“It’s not bad though, that’s the thing,” she protested as the priestess poured the tea, added a dash of milk and honey, and handed Desi the cup. She thanked her and raised the cup to her mouth. “Smells delicious.”

It did. It sparked with magic and smelled of honey and a bit of spice. She blew on the steam but it still made her hand uncomfortably warm so she set it down to let it cool. Callidora stirred her cup, a smile on her face. Desi couldn’t put a finger on it but something about the smile unnerved her. And her eyes looked like they were bleeding fel fire. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and the pain grounded her a bit.

“What’s in it?”

Her smile widened. It shouldn’t have been able to. “My own special blend. You’ve had it before.” She set her spoon on the saucer. “So if it wasn’t bad news, what kind of news did you hear?”

Therein lay the problem. Desi would never be able to remember any wild stories she made up about the message. Better to stick close to the truth but how close was close? She reached for the tea but it was still too hot. Healer Callie didn’t drink hers either, waiting for it to cool on its own. She was classy like that. A true lady. Desi blinked. She’d asked another question. Answer. It needed an answer.

“A friend of mine is coming to Outlands. She’s been through a lot and the last time I saw her, we had a huge fight.”

Healer Callie nodded, her attention all on Desi. She didn’t push or coax her to speak and while that usually got her talking, Desi hesitated. She couldn’t help but think of Izzy and how she would sit next to her, not across. Izzy, who never touched her without her permission, unless Desi had a panic attack and needed touch to ground her. She gnawed on the inside of both cheeks to keep herself focused.

“I don’t know how things will turn out.” True, stick to the truth. “She wants to see me, says she has something to tell me, and I don’t know if I should go.” She didn’t bother to hide her desperation and didn’t think she could even if she wanted to.

“Of course you’re nervous. Uncertain.” Healer Callie’s voice oozed sympathy. “You’ll be leaving the keep, your safe space, and going to possible pain and misery. Anyone would feel uncertain and confused.”

But she didn’t. She didn’t feel confused and the keep hadn’t been her safe space in a long time. Her cup rattled. When did she pick it back up? She set it down before it could break. What were they talking about? Right, Izzy’s visit. Desi shook her head as she regathered her thoughts and considered how to answer.

“I - I guess.” So articulate. She could’ve smacked herself.

“You should meet her here,” Callidora suggested. “If she’s one of us, she’ll be delighted to see the prince and be among her people again. You’ll be in your safe space and I’ll be there to help you.”

It made sense. Even if the keep wasn’t her safe space, Izzy might not want to see her after what happened. She should tell Healer Callie. She opened her mouth to do just that when the letter poked her in the side. The brief jab was enough to wake her up and remember why that was a bad idea. Izzy asked for privacy and discretion in her letter. Desi wasn’t going to let her down. It wasn’t her place to ask why she didn’t want her mother knowing she was in Outlands. All she had to do was be a good friend.

“No, I think I should face my fears and feel out if it’s safe to bring her back. I don’t want to taint my safe space if something goes wrong.”

A slight frown flickered over Callidora’s face and it sent a swoop of guilt through her gut for hiding something from her. But why would Healer Callie be mad? She looked down, her tea the most interesting thing in the room at that moment. She should drink more. Maybe she’d hurt Healer Callie’s feelings by not drinking it. She shook her head. No, that couldn’t be it. Healer Callie wasn’t petty like that.

“You bring up some excellent points. Of course we don’t want our home corrupted in such a way. However, I don’t feel comfortable sending you out to confront this potentially hostile person alone. You’re so kind and trusting, you’re bound to get hurt.”

Desi flinched. She didn’t think Izzy was hostile or dangerous but their argument still hurt. Her heart still fluttered when she thought about the beautiful, courageous woman. All those early morning training sessions, the jokes and teasing, gentle hugs, and that time on the zeppelin, all of it pointed in one direction: Desi developed a deep crush. Even their argument, one she still regretted and flinched away from talking about, couldn’t dampen her feelings even if it dashed all her hopes.

“I know, I’ll send Antares with you. That way if things don’t work out, you’ll have someone who can get you home safely.”

“Antares? But he - ”

“It’ll be a good chance for the two of you to set aside your differences and work together. It’s for the good of His Highness and the good of Quel’thalas that our people be united as one. Such childishness strife is beneath you.”

“He shouted in the middle of the mess that he heard I’d never had sex with a man and he’d gladly be my first so I could finally put, and I quote.” She made a face and held up her fingers in air quotes. “That tight as hell pussy to good use as his cum dumpster, end quote.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think that’s childish, I think that’s disgusting and disrespectful.”

“He was disciplined for his remarks.”

Desi scowled. “Latrine duty for a month and he passed it right off to the new pilgrims. Some discipline.”

“Regardless, he was disciplined, demoted, and his record was marked. He will never rise in the ranks because of you and I think it’s only right that the two of you air things out so as not to cause strife among the knights.”

While Healer Callie’s voice remained calm, her gentle disappointment and scolding made Desi flinch. She hated that tone. It dug up all of her protests and arguments and turned them inside out. The older woman placed her cup on the table and smoothed her hands over her robes. She sighed.

“But I also don’t want to see you hurt so I shall respect your wishes. However, I insist you take someone with you.”

Desi hid a groan. No way to get out of it. “Alright ma’am. If that’s what the healer orders.”

“It is.” Callidora laughed while Desi managed a pained smile. “Why don’t you take the night, think about who you’d like to accompany you, and get some sleep. I’ll see you on your way in the morning.”

She nodded and rose, leaving her untouched cup on the table. Callidora guided her to the door with a hand on the small of her back. It blazed with enough heat for Desi to feel it through her leathers and armor. Once they said goodbye, Desi headed to her room and thought about Healer Callie’s suggestion. Maybe having someone along wouldn’t be so bad if Izzy didn’t want anything to do with her. She blinked and yawned. Sleep sounded amazing. Healer Callie always said the best -

Desi halted. “Wait a minute.”

Wrong. It was all wrong. She didn’t want to take anyone with her. Izzy asked for privacy and she wanted to respect that. She wanted nothing to do with Antares or any other of Callidora’s lackeys. Desi massaged her throbbing temple, cringing as another headache marched into her head. M’uru’s whispers remained silent so it wasn’t a Naaru-ache. She hadn’t been around anything else that could have triggered it and her thirst for magic had been sated by the tea. She stopped.

The tea. Callidora didn’t drink it. Neither did she but the smell. The steam. She breathed it in without thought.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She trembled as she rushed back to her room. Forget leaving in the morning, she needed to run before someone else planted thoughts in her head. Desi closed the door and attacked her belongings. Packing carefully with only what she could fit into one small bag, she didn’t bother to stop and make a plan. If she ran into issues, she’d deal with them as they happened. That method tended to work for her the best. Before leaving, she rumpled up her bed and kept some of her things scattered around. She hoped that by leaving a bit of a mess she could avoid immediate suspicion.

Packed and ready, Desi casually strolled from her room.

Even though it wasn’t that late, hardly anyone patrolled the halls. People still lingered in the mess hall but the noise was lower. She nodded to people she knew as she continued on her way to the stables. If she acted like everything was fine, no one would look at her twice. She made it to the open air stables and found her wyvern mount. Cayda raised her armored head and rumbled in pleasure when Desi scritched behind her ears.

“Who’s my beautiful girl? Who’s my smart girl?” She double checked to make sure Cayda was properly saddled and unlatched the gate. “We need to be careful, sweetie. Careful and quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Cayda rumbled again, a mix between a cat’s meow and a deeper growl. Desi unlatched the stall door but stopped before she took a step.

“Oh. Right. Can’t go with this.” She tugged off her glove to get to the signet on her right ring finger.

After Lady Liadrin betrayed the prince and broke away from the Sunfury to join the Scryers, Callidora presented the remaining sin’dorei with rings that marked them as Kael’thas’s chosen and enabled them to communicate with each other and their prince whenever necessary. It caused more of their forces to break off and join Stormrage, of all people, until all that remained were the broken remnants of a once mighty army. While she didn’t want to leave it behind as it was the symbol of her duty and her devotion to Prince Kael’thas, Silvermoon, and her cause, she couldn’t risk being followed. She tugged on the ring.

The stuck ring.

Oh hell.

Desi yanked on the signet until her finger popped. Her fingers weren’t swollen so there wasn’t any reason for it to be stuck. Desi fumbled with it as she trudged out of the stables and checked the patrols. Since Tempest Keep floated in the void of space near the Twisting Nether and only connected to the mainland with one bridge, patrols remained there day and night. Desi did her stint weeks ago and had another coming up. Shift change around the meal hour got lax because everyone drew lots to see who would get to eat in the mess and who had to wait for leftovers. If she could slip out while they drew lots, she could make a quick stop in Area 52 to get the ring removed. Goblin tech specialized in destroying things.

“Alright, girl, let’s get going.” She swung herself into the saddle and rubbed her ears. “Keep low and try to stay out of sight.”

She pressed her heels to the wyvern’s sides and they were off. Cayda ran to the edge of the island land mass and vaulted into space. There was the wonderful, awful, thrilling free fall before Cayda spread her wings and caught the draft. Desi fought down her giggles and tossed her head back. The wind raked through her hair and tossed it about her face and eyes, but she trusted Cayda to get where they needed to go. They’d fly underneath the islands immediately surrounding the keep and then up once they were far enough away to reach Area 52 on the largest island.

Despite the vastness of space all around her and the looming shadow of the Twisting Nether in the distance, Desi laughed and relished the sheer joy of flying.

Until the ring started to burn.

“Nngh,” she grunted and clenched her hand. “Damnit. Faster, Cayda.”

She fumbled for her bag as the pain grew and spread. Healing potion. She needed a healing potion. It wouldn’t do much but it would help ease the pain. Tears streamed down her face and she screamed as the ring continued to sear into her skin. Redness radiated through her hand and down her wrist. Betrayal cut her to the bone. She should have listened. She should have gone with Lady Liadrin. What was meant to be a sign of brotherhood and unity among the sin’dorei had warped into a tool of domination and torture.

Screeching through gritted teeth, Desi abandoned rummaging for a potion in favor of hanging onto the saddle horn for dear life.

“Can’t go to Area 52,” she gasped, wheezing and sobbing as agony pulsed through her body. “Need - safe. Someplace safe. Cayda - south. Head south.”

Keening, Desi curled in on herself, hands shaking from pain and the effort of staying on Cayda’s back. She tried to breathe and keep calm but it was useless. Every time she managed to calm herself, another fresh wave of hell tore through her. She cursed herself for an idiot. She wouldn’t be in her current state if it wasn’t for her pride. Her belief in the superiority of the sin’dorei, her loyalty to Prince Kael’thas, and the urge to strengthen her people back to what they once were drove her to one bad decision after another. Worse, she couldn’t blame anyone but herself.

Duty. Honor. Loyalty. They were supposed to mean something. Something good and true. Instead, all she got was pain, manipulation, and loneliness.

Some brotherhood.

They flew on, Desi’s bitterness growing with every flap of Cayda’s wings.

* * *

Izzy’s first step into Outlands didn’t make a great first impression. Already missing her friends and family after her swift departure only a day after Winter’s Veil, the green sky and blood red wasteland before her didn’t inspire a sense of home or familiarity. The former planet Draenor was completely alien to her. At least the deserts in Silithus looked something resembling normal. Hell, she would have even preferred all the bugs to all the demons swarming about. The tang of fel magic hung thick in the air and she shuddered.

The next stretch of her journey would test her patience, and willpower, to the max. She sighed.

“Note to self: acquire a flying mount as soon as possible.”

No way would she chance falling off the crumbling continent. She shuddered at the thought. Levitate wouldn’t help her in the depths of space.

After getting her letter of introduction, Izzy took a wyvern over to Thrallmar. She snorted at the name. The Warchief claimed not to be egotistical but damn. Naming the territory after his father, the main city for his race, and even reaching into Outlands with camps and settlements named after him? Didn’t exactly scream “humble” to her. She handed her letter to the orc in charge and debated on whether she wanted to stay in Thrallmar or move on to somewhere else. Preferably somewhere saner.

“Brothers and sisters, I have been to the promised land.”

In the courtyard, a blood elf in red and gold robes spoke to a group of newcomers. Some were adventurers, some civilians, but all of them gathered around him like he preached a new gospel. She wandered over, curious.

“I have tasted in the sublime energy. I have felt bliss - bliss so engrossing and all encompassing that I was left wondering if I had stumbled upon the dreams of gods.” He paused to take a breath.

“Give it a rest, Martik. No one wants to hear your bullshit.”

Through the crowd of offended elves staggered a familiar paladin. Izzy smiled in greeting but it dropped when she got a better look at Desi’s drawn, ashen face and bleeding green eyes. Not bleeding blood but leaking so much that she appeared to be crying fel magic. Izzy’s heart jumped in her throat. She dropped Sethy’s reins and ran over, hesitating before she touched her. Something passed over Desi’s face and the paladin sobbed, bent over, and buried her face in Izzy’s neck.

“Desi?” Panic welled. Izzy scanned her with her magic and hissed, recoiling. “You’re saturated in fel magic and something cursed is cutting into your hand. What happened? What did they do to you?”

“No time.” Desi pulled back enough to down a potion and winced, hand to her chest. “We need to get to Shattrath. I’ll explain on the way.”

Alarm gnawed at her and dropped like a stone in her stomach but Izzy climbed onto her mount’s back and stayed close as they rode out of Thrallmar. They headed south, skirting orc camps and the bastion Desi identified as Hellfire Citadel, home of a combination of fel orcs and demons. She made sure to stay close as they passed what looked to be a haunted settlement as well as an Alliance-style keep. When she spotted familiar-shaped spires in the distance, she mentally slapped herself.

“I was supposed to check in at Flamewing, let the Ranger-Captain know I’ve arrived. Can we - ?”

“No,” Desi snapped and clutched her chest harder. “No. Need to stay away from there. Makes it too easy for them to find you. Just - just trust me. We gotta get to Shattrath. Find Lady Liadrin.”

The alarm grew into a near anxiety attack poised to crash. “Alright Desi, we’ll go. We’re going now. It’ll be alright.”

A faint smile quirked Desi’s lips. “Thank you.”

As they continued down towards fields where shadow elementals roamed and headed onto a thorn-lined road, Izzy’s mind teemed with questions with no answers. Just suppositions that left her on edge and dreading what was to come. If it wasn’t for her promise to deal with her mother, Izzy would have turned right around and gone home. To hell with her and to hell with the crumbling planet. But she wouldn’t abandon Desi. Nor could she truly start her life until she stepped out of her mother’s shadow. With each mile covered, Desi’s pain grew more intense until Izzy had to ride behind her just to keep her upright. She burned with fever centered on a ring on her right hand.

A ring with Kael’thas’ symbol burned into it.

“What the hell have you gotten into?” she murmured to her unconscious, groaning companion.

Whatever it was had the prince’s name all over it and where he stood, her mother was never far behind. Cursing her mother, Izzy snapped Sethy’s reins and rode faster. She needed answers and Shattrath beckoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks, the last interlude chapter before the Outlands arc. Hoo, can you believe it? I've been plotting for the past week and there's so much going on that I can't wait to share. Izzy's journey is far from over as I plan to take this story through every expansion (though some will be more glossed over than others) but hang onto your hats cause she's gonna be facing her first big challenge at the end of this arc.
> 
> Everyone stay safe and sane and have a great holiday and I'll see you in two weeks!


	14. A Man in Time You'll Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

Izzy pinched the bridge of her nose and smashed her mace over a Sunfury Defender’s head. The idiot slumped to the ground with a low, wet gurgle and joined the slew of bodies that surrounded her. Almost a tower of corpses and they still kept coming. Morons. She took a swig of mana potion and licked the sparkling, blueberry and mint taste from her lips. Her body shuddered as it absorbed the magic and she narrowly dodged a fireball that came from a warlock nearby.

“You call that a fireball?” She scoffed and held up her cupped hand where a miniature inferno blazed in her palm. “Oh honey, no.”

She pelted the hapless bastard and his friends with holy fire until they all collapsed, blackened and crispy. Izzy huffed in satisfaction and knelt next to the defender she’d clocked over the head. A quick tug on his glove revealed another Sunfury Signet. She sighed and pulled. It slid free like the wearer greased it. Putting that disgusting thought aside, she examined the ring and swore.

“The one time I wanted to be wrong,” she muttered and pocketed her prize.

Before she left she pried two more rings off the warlock and one of his friends. Mission accomplished, she mounted Sethy and rode back to Shattrath. The crumbling ruins of the Lower City came into view through the thick, dense forest, and she followed the tunnel going up until she reached the main square. Skirting the hall where A’dal and the old-but-not-really-old mage held court, she took the elevator to Scryers’ Terrace and tossed the pouch to Magistrix Fyalenn. The red-haired elf caught it with a raised brow.

“Bad news?”

“Always. Could you note those down for me please? I’ve got a matriarch to track down.”

“Check the infirmary.” Fyalenn nodded in the general direction then turned to her thick book while Izzy rode off.

She nodded greetings to the merchants and armorsmiths who waved to her as she wound her way towards the several-story spire that served as headquarters. It housed the barracks, infirmary, armory, and training grounds and practically gleamed from newness. While the sin’dorei had been there only a few years, they used their magic to its fullest to make construction a snap. The guards stationed on either side of the main gate saluted her as she passed by and she cast brief blessings on them before turning to stable her mount. Once Sethy was settled, she used the teleporter pad to reach the third floor and followed the right hand corridor.

Two people waited outside the infirmary, murmuring in low voices.

“Keeping secrets?” Izzy teased and touched the back of her hand to her forehead. “Go ahead. Keep me in the dark. I’m only out there busting my ass, and Sunfury heads, because of this terrible curse.”

Lady Liadrin chuckled but Voren’thal scowled. Izzy rolled her eyes. The old sourpuss still acted like she was the most immature being he’d ever met despite her proving otherwise. So she went out of her way to needle him every chance she got. Moreover, there was little cause for joy lately so they had to take it when they could. She walked over and glanced through the open door.

“How is she?”

“No change. She needs a mage with her at all times to lessen the effects and she’s going through fel magic withdrawal.” Voren’thal pursed his lips. “It’s a delicate balance, ensuring she has enough magic to sustain herself while preventing oversaturation.”

She shuddered. “Belore be merciful. May I see her now or after my report?”

“Your report first please,” Liadrin said.

Izzy’s humor faded and her shoulders slumped. “It’s worse than we thought. That ring won’t come off short of death. Either Desi’s or the source of the curse, which I have a feeling is Kael’thas.”

Voren’thal’s frown deepened. “And how can you be certain?”

She shot him a harsh look. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Neither responded but Liadrin shifted on her feet and Voren’thal’s lip curled in a sneer. She wanted to roll her eyes again. She may have chosen to be a healer but that didn’t negate her experience with gore and injuries. Something Liadrin, at least, should have understood as a former priestess. Izzy used her knives and her words to “convince” the Sunfury to take off the rings willingly before she tried cutting off fingers and then whole hands and got the same results. The rings didn’t come off until the wearer was dead. Did she relish such a task? No. Did she do it anyway? Yes. For Desi’s sake, and the sake of all their people who bore the rings, they needed to know how far the curse extended.

“Trust me, I tried other things before I started cutting off body parts but those damn rings won’t budge. I suggest you ask the mages to study the curse and find out exactly what it does and how to break it. Fel, there’s one hanging out with the Naaru in the main building, why not ask him?”

“And where will you be?” Voren’thal demanded.

“I’ll be travelling Outlands, gathering information, and doing the grunt work that you can’t be bothered with,” she snapped back. “Because when it comes down to a fight, and it will, it won’t just be Kael’thas we’re facing but his entire army.”

And she would need to be strong enough to keep her mother from her prince’s side. As soon as she checked on Desi, she planned to leave and while she would send back any information, she wouldn’t go out of her way to get it. She needed to fortify herself. With Desi out of commission and the rest of her closest friends back on Azeroth, she had to be ready to face her mother alone.

The thought made her want to vomit.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a sick friend to see.”

With that, she sidestepped the two of them and entered the quiet, bright room. Beds lined both walls, some occupied, most not. A breeze ruffled sheer curtains that let in the early afternoon sun and fresh air. She breathed in the warmth and comfort as she made her way to the back. Healers in white robes tended patients, brewed potions, or filled out charts at a cluster of desks off to the side. Izzy flinched in empathy and made a suffering face to the healers there, earning her a few chuckles. 

Paperwork had its own hell.

At the back of the room lay several small alcoves for the most critical patients. All of the beds stood empty save one. A blonde haired elf with sharp, upturned eyes glanced up from her book, the cover stamped with arcane symbols. A new mage. She nodded at Izzy and returned to her reading. Izzy cast a small blessing over her before she ducked behind the curtain. Desi lay sweating and pale amid rumpled sheets, one hand clenching in a thin blanket. Izzy settled on the chair next to the bed and cast a spell.

“No fever today, blessed Belore.” She refocused her magic and checked Desi’s breathing and heartbeat.

A hammering pulse. Shallow but steady breaths. Not unexpected but not good either. Desi’s vitals radiated distress. There was only so much strain a mortal body could take and Izzy feared Desi’s would give out before long. She bit her lower lip.

“That’s not a good look.”

Izzy jumped with a yelp. Desi smiled weakly at her, two red blotches high on her pale cheeks, and Izzy huffed.

“How long I got?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Izzy held her hand and sent in her healing magic to bolster Desi’s strength.

A pause. “Can’t even tell me that I’m going to be fine, can you?”

“I don’t like making promises I can’t keep. I can promise that we’re trying. We’re looking into the curse and I believe that we’ll find a way to kill Kael’thas and end this. Or the mages will find some way to break it, I don’t know. Either way, we’re going to get that tacky piece of metal off your finger.”

Desi laughed. “It  _ is _ tacky, isn’t it?”

“Ugly too,” Izzy quipped.

They chuckled until Desi groaned and squeezed her eyes closed. Sensing the forming headache, Izzy brushed her fingers over the pulsing nerves and eased the tension in them until the paladin could relax again.

“I’m such an idiot,” Desi grumbled.

“You’re not.”

“I never should have bought into his spiel.”

“It wasn’t just him.” Izzy’s mouth twisted in bitterness. “You didn’t stand a chance against her.”

They sat in silence for a while before Desi sighed. “Wish I could go with you. I’d love to give both of them a swift kick in the ass. Instead I’m stuck here, poked and prodded. Can’t sleep. Can’t stop thinking - ”

“Don’t.” Izzy squeezed her hand firmly. “You trusted her and she used that. They both did. That’s how she works.”

Desi didn’t say anything but the anguish and guilt lay stamped across her face. Izzy wanted to stay and comfort her but only getting that ring off could do that. Still, she deserved better after risking her life to escape Tempest Keep and warn them about Kael’thas and the curse. Someone cleared their throat on the other side of the curtain. Izzy sighed and stood, gently setting Desi’s hand back on the bed.

“It’s okay.” Desi smiled up at her. “I’ve got a lot of people looking after me and war takes time. Go.”

Guilt made her squirm but she reached down and gave Desi a hug as best she could. The other woman felt fragile, more bony, in her thin clothes and the guilt was quashed by rising anger.

“I’ll come back.” She couldn’t promise when because she didn’t know but she would return. “Stay strong and remember - ”

“Don’t fight the healer, yeah, yeah,” Desi rolled her eyes and lay back down. “You go on and have adventures. I’ll lay here and dream about having them. Maybe they’ll actually be good ones.”

Izzy rolled her eyes but smiled as she wished her farewell and left. Another nod to the mage in thanks for keeping the worst of the spell at bay, then one to Lady Liadrin who lingered in the door, and she was gone. She balled her hands into fists as she stormed through the barracks. Her mother and so-called prince had a lot to answer for and when the time came, Izzy planned to present the punishment herself.

* * *

**Three Months Later**

Why in Belore’s holy name did it have to be orcs?

She spent three months among the Mag’har during her infrequent trips out to Shadowmoon and Netherstorm, learning their dialect and culture, killing more ogres than she ever wanted to see in her lifetime, and decimating the forces inside Hellfire Citadel. Her renown grew, her gear improved, and she could say with confidence that she had grown in power and skill. Everything would have been great if it hadn’t been for one orc in particular.

Garrosh Hellscream, the young chieftain of the tribe since Greatmother Geyah took ill, frustrated the hell out of her.

The moody youth, son of Grommash Hellscream, floundered under the titles and whispers heaped on him. He took pride in being the strongest of his clan but it didn’t mean much when the entire clan were red pox survivors, the elderly, and others deemed “unfit” for conquest by Kargath Bladefist. He bore a proud, strong name but his father had been the one to make the initial pact that enslaved the orcs to demons. Some days he burned hot with the temper of youth and a huge chip on his shoulder. Other days he sulked in a depression so strong its presence cast a dark cloud over all of Garadar. Izzy wasn’t a mind healer by any stretch but she couldn’t leave someone in such obvious need of help but the irritating ass either sniped at her attempts or ignored her completely.

It almost made her want to quit. Almost.

She tried being gentle with him, coming from a place of understanding and patience, and he brushed her off. She tried provoking him to a fight in the hopes of igniting his inner fire but he mocked her for her supposed weakness. Greatmother Geyah insisted he had potential to be a great chieftain and leader and at first Izzy believed her. After so many failures she started to wonder why she even bothered. The old woman had done a lot for her, vouching for her to the clan as a fellow healer, teaching her the language, and so on, but Izzy didn’t think she was the right person to help Garrosh.

Then there were days when she saw flashes of what Geyah did. Moments of the great leader he could become. Yet they came and went in the blink of an eye until Izzy wanted to tear her hair out. She’d never had so much trouble connecting with someone before and needed to work off some of her frustration before she took it out on Garrosh.

In the cool, early morning Izzy stretched and sighed. She swung her mace back and forth in comfortable, familiar motions as she considered her targets. Wood and straw practice dummies lined the brawl pit. Bits of straw and splintered wood hung off the arms and poked through the fabric wrapped around the head. She didn’t want to wreck them, the Mag’har worked so hard to make them. A brief thought to crushing ogre heads crossed her mind but she snorted. No, Bullrok promised to wring her neck with the next string of beads she turned in.

The gate clacked. She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened. Garrosh stood in the ring, twin axes in hand, dressed in leathers suitable for a spar.

She grinned.

They took positions and crossed weapons. Garrosh lunged, she dodged, and the skirmish began.

At first, Izzy didn’t take it seriously, treating it as just a friendly match, but Garrosh started pushing harder. His blows came faster. He aimed his chops at her joints and went for more vulnerable areas. Izzy frowned as her heart rate picked up. Sweat dripped into her eyes as she went on the offensive, using the haft of her mace as a staff for blocking before she swung or kicked. The temptation to use her magic reared but she held back at first. Until Garrosh swung with enough power to crush her spine. She cast her power word: shield and danced back.

His eyes flared red.

Berserker rage.

“Shit,” she muttered and dodged another blow. “That’s enough, Garrosh.” He swung again and roared but she weaved away. “I’m serious; stop.”

He didn’t. Whispers broke out. Mutters of cursed blood and comments about his father reached her ears. She snorted. Time to put an end to that bullshit once and for all.

“Sorry in advance.” She cast a spell meant to soothe the mind and put all of her willpower behind it. “Calm. You’re safe, Garrosh. There’s no threat here. No enemy that needs defeating.”

He wobbled. A flash of gold came through his red eyes. Izzy kept up the spell until his eyes were fully gold again and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned and stalked out of the ring. Izzy sighed and mopped her forehead with the back of her sleeve before turning to glare at the crowd.

“None of you know anything about real curses. If you did, you wouldn’t wish them on anyone.”

She slung her mace over her shoulder and left the ring. After she stashed her weapon and dumped a bucket of water over her head, she followed Garrosh’s trail to a small, sandy patch by the lake. While she didn’t want to intrude on what was clearly a safe space, she ached to talk to him. It wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed an orc go berserk on the battlefield and while it unnerved her, it didn’t scare her. Izzy peeled off her socks and boots, rolled up her pant legs, and waded into the shallows.

“You’re brooding again,” she called as she cooled her aching feet and calves. “Can’t help but notice you do that a lot.”

“Go away.” He threw a rock into the lake hard enough for a plume of water to explode on the otherwise calm surface.

“I could but then who else would be here to tell you they’re all spouting clefthoof crap?” She waded out a bit deeper and squished her toes in the sand. “They are, you know. Full of shit I mean.”

He grunted.

“I’m serious.” She kicked out one leg in a wide arch, making a little wave in her wake. “They don’t know the first thing about being cursed. Or being the child of someone who damned their people.”

Izzy stared out over the lake at the Throne of Elementals, avoiding Garrosh’s gaze but feeling the weight of it. She would have cheered if the situation weren’t so serious. But it was a start and it allowed her to let go of her frustration a little. She just had to remind herself that he was barely twenty and she had more than a century of age and experience over him. It might have been that experience that alienated her from him in the first place but she couldn’t say for sure. Either way, she thanked Belore she finally had a chance to connect with and possibly help the troubled youth.

“They call my bloodline cursed.” His voice, tight with pain and anger, cut through her thoughts. “My father’s blood infected me. I’m doomed to inherit it all: his rage, his bloodlust, his relentless need for battle. If you hadn’t stopped me.” He trailed off and grit his teeth. “He left my mother, his  _ mate _ , dying in a gore splattered battlefield with only a blade to comfort her. He left me with these weak, pathetic…”

She let the silence linger for a while as she digested that statement and wrestled with her own emotions. “It’s funny isn’t it?” Her voice remained steady but her throat tightened. “Our parents are the ones who commit these crimes and yet we’re the ones who bear the burden of their legacy.”

It wasn’t fair but nothing was. Not the family a person was born into or the burdens that name carried. She turned and found his eyes firmly on her. It was the first time she really had his attention and the intensity of his gaze unnerved her. Still, she managed a small smile and a shrug of one shoulder.

“But there’s this thing with legacies. Once our parents are gone, they’re ours to live up to, or live down, as we choose.”

“And what will you choose?”

Her smile fell. Weight settled on her shoulders. “What needs to be done. For my people, for myself.”

Silence stretched. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers together. “The Warsong clan has always stood for greatness. Glory and conquest in battle. Bearing the weight of those expectations when I haven’t even been given a chance to prove myself is - ”

He roared and slammed his fists into the sand bar. The impact sent ripples through the water and Izzy hid her flinch. The raw show of power and rage had her tensing for battle but she coached herself to remain calm. She rubbed her ringing ears and thought about how to proceed. She wasn’t an orc but she wanted to understand. Maybe that was enough.

“Explain it to me?” she asked as she waded closer. “Can I sit?” At his grudging nod, she settled next to him, sand sticking to every inch of her from the knees down. “I’m not an orc but I know something about legacies.”

At his dubious look, she just smiled and waited. It was the most successful she’d been thus far in getting through Garrosh’s depression. She braced herself back on her hands and stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankle, like she didn’t have a care in the world, but remained focused on him. After an internal struggle passed over his face, he broke down and talked. He spoke of his childhood as a battle for survival. So many of all the clans died from the pox but not him. He lived and believed himself to be all the stronger for it. He’d proven he was a wolf who still had teeth.

When Kargath Bladefist came to recruit warriors to fight beyond the Dark Portal, he presented himself and the strongest of the survivors as volunteers and were all laughed away as weaklings. Rejected. Unworthy.

Izzy flinched hard. “Asshole,” she grumbled. “If he knew how hard it is to heal, with or without magic, he wouldn’t say shit like that. And if he said that in front of me, he wouldn’t have teeth left to talk.”

He laughed, a genuine, if surprised sound. “I’d love to see that. You with your skinny elf arms trying to punch a warrior like Kargath Bladefist.”

She poked him in the side right where his floating kidney was. He shouted and twisted away. Izzy chuckled and held up her index finger, all she’d used to prod him. “A healer always knows the best places to strike.”

That startled a grudging look of respect from him and they ended up talking until almost sunset. With painstaking care, Izzy helped Garrosh unload his burdens. As an outsider, she didn’t have the same biases as his people and was in a unique position to understand a bit of the weight he carried. It was never easy growing up in the shadow of someone else, let alone someone who committed atrocities against others. As a healer, she couldn’t leave Garrosh with such anguish or it would fester. Geyah didn’t have long, months at most, and she deserved to see her clan in capable, steady hands. Once she was gone, Garrosh would need the tools to help him find his own balance until a mind healer could be found for him.

“I wish,” he stopped himself and snorted. “But wishes are for children.”

“I don’t think so. I’m 138 years old and I still wish for things.”

He gaped at her. “You’re ancient.”

“I’ll poke you again,” she threatened and he barked a laugh. “And if I’m ancient, you’re an infant, so there.” Chuckling to herself, she gazed at the mountains in the distance. “I wish for happiness. For friends. Peace.” Her stomach rumbled and she groaned. “A thick slice of clefthoof and roast vegetables with a nice, cold grog. Care to join me?”

“Heathen. The best grog is served warm.”

She mock gagged and stood, attempting a futile effort to brush the sand off. He snorted again and stared out at the water.

“I fear I have burdened you enough. You’ve given me much to think about and I must do so alone.”

She nodded in understanding. “There are lots of voices around you and you’ve listened to them a long time about who and what you should be. About time you listened to your own voice.” She reached out on instinct but hesitated. “Is it alright if I touch your shoulder? Or give you a hug?”

“A what?”

She almost laughed but held it back. “It’s a physical method of comfort and support and I like to ask before I touch someone. Sometimes...sometimes touching hurts more than it helps.”

Slowly, he nodded, watching her with the wary eyes of a stalked wolf. She settled a hand on his broad shoulder and debated on the best way to go about the hug. He may have been young but he was still huge. Even though he was sitting and she was standing, she was still only a head taller. After some thought she decided to throw caution to the wind and stood between his legs to wrap her arms around his thick neck. Up close he reeked of old sweat and leather but she doubted she smelled much better, even with the brief bucket shower she took earlier. He tensed up at first but she rubbed what she could reach of his back and he slowly relaxed.

“You have a lot to offer, Garrosh. You’ve gone through things that would have broken others and yet here you stand. You may not believe it now but you’re strong, you’re worthy, and you deserve to be happy.”

She gave him one last squeeze and was about to pull away when a large, hesitant hand pressed against her back in silent acknowledgment. It didn’t stir her blood the way Vana’s slim but powerful grip or Lo’Gosh’s calloused palms on her skin did but it warmed her nonetheless. Somehow she’d gotten through to him and even if she couldn’t offer advice, sometimes a person just needed someone to listen. She pulled back, patted his shoulder, and left him to his thoughts, almost bouncing in excitement.

“Don’t know what caused the sudden change of heart but fuck am I glad it happened,” she mumbled to herself and hummed as she headed back to the village proper.

Inside the large, central dwelling that served as hospice, inn for travellers, and general gathering place, a small fire crackled next to Geyah. She knelt on her sleeping pad and warmed her hands over the flames. Frowning in concern, Izzy crossed the open space and dropped to one knee.

“Something wrong Greatmother? Are your chills back?” Izzy reached out, hand glowing, but Geyah took her hand and shook her head.

“I’m fine, child. The spirits have merely whispered of change. Of a shift in the dark cloud hovering over young Hellscream. They speak of a light in the darkness with the potential to rival the sun.”

“Ah. Spying spirits or prying peons?” she teased and settled cross-legged on the packed dirt floor.

The old woman snorted and her tusks flashed in the reflected light. “It is not wise to mock the spirits.” Though a chagrined smile crossed her face. “But perhaps it was a little of both. You spent hours with Garrosh. It’s the longest he has ever spoken with anyone besides me, let alone an outsider.”

Izzy shrugged. “Merely offered him a healer’s ear and an open heart.” She shifted and sighed. “He had a good point though.” At Geyah’s questioning look, Izzy gestured to herself. “I’m not an orc. I don’t have a lot of perspective so I can’t really understand much of his experiences. If I could drag Thrall here, that would be a different story but he’s back in Durotar and - ”

“What?” Geyah’s head jerked up. “What did you call that place?”

“Oh, right, I guess I didn’t tell you. Durotar is the territory of the new Horde. Thrall apparently named it for his father and the capital city, Orgrimmar, after his mentor...something Doomhammer?”

“Durotan...his father…” Tears filled her eyes and Geyah sobbed. “My Durotan. My boy. I thought…”

Izzy’s mouth fell open in stunned silence and her brain struggled to catch up. Geyah was Durotan’s mother, which meant Thrall was her grandson, and the warchief probably had no idea. Izzy didn’t know much about Thrall but she knew family. She had to tell him. Get him to drop everything and get his green ass to Garadar. Moreover, if any of the other veterans survived, they could talk to Garrosh about the war beyond the Dark Portal and could have more stories about Grommash. Izzy scrambled for her packs and came back with her writing supplies.

“Write to him,” she insisted. “Write to Thrall and ask him to come. My messenger should be here tomorrow, he can take it right to him.”

Much to her irritation, communication stones didn’t work in Outlands yet so she couldn’t whisper Kav. He would have killed for such a juicy bit of news. Mages only just managed to establish portals in Shattrath to the capital cities of the Alliance and Horde so it was only a matter of time but still. She scribbled a note to the messenger. It changed every two weeks but they still came like clockwork. Sometimes Izzy saw them, most of the time not. Her other letters lay ready, one or two more couldn’t hurt.

Geyah wrote and discarded several letters before she was finally satisfied and spent the rest of the afternoon telling Izzy stories of her family and asking her about Thrall. Sadly, Izzy couldn’t answer much because of how her people had once been a part of the Alliance and then isolated from the rest of the Horde because of general distrust, but she did her best. When Geyah laid down to sleep, Izzy wandered outside to have dinner and then participate in some of the dancing and singing that came afterward. A short swim in the lake to wash off and she retired for the day.

The next morning, her letters were gone and she rolled her eyes at Kav’s dramatics but grinned. She could always count on him.

After a brief overnight trip to Auchindoun, Izzy came back to a long line of orcs gathered around several wolf riders and stretching the main road between Garadar and the intersection to the Nesingwary camp. Curious, she rode up and stood in her stirrups. In the center of the gathering stood two orcs, both with bright green skin, but one carried a distinct hammer. Izzy clicked her tongue and guided her mount closer.

“He looks familiar…”

“…Greatmother’s bloodline…”

“Is he…mortal…?”

“Leave for a day and come back to chaos,” Izzy muttered. “Excuse me, sorry, pardon me.” She pushed her way in and dismounted when she finally reached Thrall and his guest. “Warchief, you got my letter.”

“You are Isoldera Ambershield?” At her nod, he pressed his fist over his heart and bowed deeply. “You have my eternal gratitude, priestess. I may never have known about my remaining family were it not for you.”

“Please don’t bow,” she insisted, face flaming. “I’m sure someone would have told you, many adventurers come through here, it was no trouble, oh blessed Belore, someone stop me,” she mumbled to various chuckles. She took a breath. “And just Izzy’s fine, Warchief.” She bowed to the second orc who had a small ball of lightning circling him. A shaman. “I don’t believe we’ve met, wise one. It is an honor.”

“This is Drek’thar.” Thrall clasped his mentor on the shoulder. “He knew my family and asked to accompany me.”

“Of course. Come, I’ll show you the way to the Greatmother’s dwelling.” They started down the road on foot, Izzy leading Sethy by the reins. “It was good of you to come. Geyah will probably tell you but there are others here who had family they thought lost beyond the Dark Portal forever.”

“Truly?” She nodded and Thrall beamed. “Then we shall bring them to Azeroth. Reunite families broken apart by war and welcome our lost kin.”

“That’s wonderful Warchief but not all of the residents grew up with good - ”

“Hellscream!” They stopped near the central square and Thrall gripped Drek’thar’s arm. “Blessed ancestors, he’s the mirrored reflection of Grom. Do you sense him, my old friend? It’s as though the war never happened.”

Thrall ran over, leaving Izzy to guide Drek’thar at a more sedate pace. Despite being blind, the old shaman picked his way around the fire with relative ease. A fond, wistful smile touched his features and Izzy was reminded of her elderly grandfather, who passed when she was in her early 70s. The gathered orcs and adventurers kept a wide berth from the newcomers as Thrall spoke with Garrosh.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner, young Hellscream.” Thrall gripped Garrosh’s forearm in a warriors’ greeting, voice brimming with excitement. “There is so much I have to tell you about your father but first I must see the greatmother.”

“We received your missive and are honored by your presence, son of Durotan.” Garrosh inclined his head in respect. “The greatmother awaits you in the hospice.”

“Thank you Garrosh. We have much to discuss when I return.”

With that, he made his way up the gently sloping hill and inside. Drek’thar was made welcome by the shamans, leaving Garrosh alone to stare after the warchief. Izzy chuckled and flicked her fingers under the young orc’s chin.

“You’ll catch flies like that.”

He started and closed his mouth. “Did you write to him for my sake?”

She shrugged. “He’s the greatmother’s blood. Her only remaining family. I wanted her to know him, considering she’s done so much for me.” She shot him a sly grin. “The fact that he’s an orc, warchief of the Horde, and knew your father was strictly extra.”

He snorted a laugh then surprised her by giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She patted his arm and ducked out from under it. “I’m going to see if I received any letters. Try not to brood too hard before you meet Thrall, okay?”

He rolled his eyes but smiled. She giggled and headed inside, skirting around the emotional reunion as Geyah clung to her grandson and both wept and exclaimed over each other. Her chest tightened with longing. She missed her friends. She missed Sylvanas. She wanted to teleport back to Undercity, walk right into the throne room, and pull her aside for a kiss and cuddle. She wanted to see Lo’Gosh again. Had he found his memories? His family? While she sent him a second letter stating that she was alive and well in Outlands, she hadn’t heard from him since. But Liadrin hadn’t sent word about sieging Tempest Keep and until she did, Izzy couldn’t risk going home. She sighed and massaged her temples as she approached her sleeping area and packs. There weren’t really rooms in the inn but enough watchers were around to ensure her belongings didn’t get stolen.

A white envelope lay on top, her name in graceful handwriting.

She opened it and her stomach dropped to her knees.

The letter, signed by Liadrin, stole her breath; Desi in a coma. Unresponsive. Unclear if she would wake up.

Her hands shook so much the letter tore in a corner. She couldn’t see anything but those words. Couldn’t hear anything but Desi’s pained breathing and rapid heart. Or was that hers? Izzy raked her fingers through her hair, dug them into her scalp, as she struggled to think, to process. She scrambled for the letter and re-read it. Surely if Desi had become unresponsive, the attack had to be soon. But as she skimmed, there was no mention of a raid. Just that they continued to gather allies and for Izzy to stand by.

The same message she’d heard for weeks.

“Son of a  _ bitch _ ,” her voice rose to a shout on the last word and she flinched. Everything around her fell dead silent. “Apologies,” she threw over her shoulder and gathered her packs. “Bad news. I - I have to go. I’m sorry.”

She dashed outside to finish arming up and fetch Sethy from the stable master. By the time she finished returning him to Silvermoon via his mount stone, Thrall was at the central fire and boasted to Garrosh that he would show him what his father did for all orcs. As he went to speak to the other shamans about his demonstration, she skirted around the edge and made her way to Garrosh, who stood talking quietly with Drek’thar.

“Hello again, priestess.” Drek’thar smiled at her. “The voices of the spirits are so much stronger here. They share the most interesting stories.”

“You and Greatmother Geyah have either been talking or the spirits are really nosy,” she teased and squeezed the hand he extended to her.

He held on for longer, his voice deepening. “Blessed ancestors,” he whispered, hand trembling.

She frowned. “Drek’thar? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” He patted her hand. “Merely a warning. Take care, priestess. The paths before you may not lead where you desire.”

Agitated but grateful, Izzy thanked him before turning to Garrosh. “I’m sorry for my rush but I’m leaving for Tempest Keep. I don’t know when I’ll return but I’ll write to you if I can.” She held out her hand. “Be well, Garrosh.”

He nodded and clasped her hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Safe travels, priestess. May we meet once more to tell our stories around a campfire and feast.”

She blessed them both and jogged to the flight master to take the fastest flight to Netherstorm. She didn’t have enough gold for a flying mount for herself yet and didn’t relish taking Sethrin through the long way in Blade’s Edge. The pointy as hell mountain ranges terrified her. Or rather, the thought of getting speared on one of the points then dropping into the endless abyss of space did. Just thinking about it made her shudder and she couldn’t wait to get back onto Azeroth where the planet was firm and whole.

Thankfully the flight to Blade’s Edge passed without incident and the bleak landscape of Netherstorm stretched before her. It matched her mood. The floating islands were nearly bereft of all life but for whatever grew beneath goblin-made domes. After being in Nagrand for so long, her eyes watered at all of the mana crackling in the dry air while her cravings hit her like a warhammer. In Nagrand, the land itself felt different. Blessed by both the elements and ancestors the orcs spoke of. Her drive for arcane magic faded to almost nothing the longer she stayed there and it was part of the reason she made it her home base. In contrast, Netherstorm had her salivating even as her stomach twisted in nausea.

Her body yearned for the magic in the air but something tainted it with a bitter, scorched, iron taste.

Fel magic.

Her fingers curled hard around Seth’s lead as she mounted up in Area 52 which caused him to caw and dance in place. She spent some time soothing him and centering herself until her cravings, and her mount, calmed down. With a gentle press of her heels, Izzy made her way to Tempest Keep. It loomed in the distance, impossible to miss, as big as Kael’s ego and just as pretentious. The thought made her snicker and injected a much needed boost of good humor into her heart. Despite having to dodge a few beasts and random elves, the ride went smoothly, and she approached the guards on the lone bridge.

“I am Lady Isoldera Ambershield and I am here to see my mother, Duchess Callidora Ambershield.” She held out her mother’s initial letter to summon her to Outlands but didn’t hand it to either guard. “Step aside.”

She put on her haughtiest air and most superior voice, the sort that reeked entitled nobility and she tried to erase from her being. When they made no move to stop her, Izzy nodded in that imperious way she hated in others and rode by. As she passed, she caught a condescending smirk on the smaller guard’s face. Unease tickled up the back of her spine and she sent up a silent plea that her skills would be enough to face her mother. If they weren’t…if she wasn’t ready…she shook her head. She had to be ready. There was no other choice. To save Desi, to get back home, to see the people she loved again, she had to finish things. The doors to the keep opened, revealing a tall, voluptuous woman with long black hair and blazing green eyes. Izzy rode up with her head held high.

“Hello minn’da.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm back! Hope everyone had a safe and sane couple of weeks. Life for me has continued unchanged, which meant I got a lot of writing done.....when Shadowlands wasn't stealing my soul. Either way, here's the new chapter and a quick note:
> 
> As of right now, Garrosh Hellscream hasn't done much of anything besides be a depressed teenager rejected by his clan's strongest warriors and whispered about all his life by others. We, you readers and me the author, know what he's going to become but Izzy doesn't. To her, he's just a kid in need of guidance, the kind she doesn't feel right giving him. Which is just going to make it hurt that much more when he does start shifting further down the line.
> 
> With that said, we're getting close to the end now. I think maybe 3-4 more chapters, depending on how things flow. Then maybe a couple of one shots from other, minor characters (I'm eager to write something with Kav, haha) as well as POV chapters from some of our canon faves.
> 
> Thanks so much for stopping by and I'll see you next week!


	15. Darkness Closing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’thalas**

Kav drummed his fingers on his desk in a slow, discontent rhythm as he contemplated the rogue standing on the other side. Kennet wasn’t his first choice for messenger but after one of his agents brought him a juicy tidbit of information, he wanted the undead on a short leash. His patience was about to pay off. Ket stood, too still and silent, as Kav digested the news he brought.

“Disappeared,” Kav said, voice cool and dispassionate. “No one has seen her since she left Nagrand two weeks ago.” He narrowed his eyes at Ket. “And you haven’t been able to find any clues about her whereabouts?”

“No sir. The orc she spent the most time with is ill. Couldn’t get close.” He shrugged. “Might be able to track down one of the others. Heard he was in Azeroth.”

“I see.” His fingers slowed and stopped. “And I assume you’re not offering to help out of the goodness of your heart.”

Ket grinned, showing off sharp, yellow teeth. “Canny businessman. I assure you, the fee’s reasonable.”

“I’m sure,” Kav drawled and rose, a pouch of coins in his hand. “There’s a problem though, Ket. I only pay for information. You’ve brought me nothing. So why should I pay you a copper bit?”

“I did what you asked. I went to get the letters from the wench. Not my fault I didn’t come back with any.”

Kav hummed under his breath as he circled his desk, noting how Ket’s gaze followed the hand with the gold. Idiot. Coins didn’t blind Kav. He spotted the bony hand going for a knife but he beat him to it. With a single lunge and thrust, Kav’s blade buried itself in the Forsaken’s throat. Ket choked and flailed, one hand scrabbling at Kav’s wrist and the other struggling for his weapon. He scoffed. The flailing did nothing but speed up the process of the venom as it coiled through Kennet’s veins. His eyes dropped down and he sighed.

“Blood all over the carpet. Hand carved by a master.” He shoved the rogue off his knife and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. “You were correct about one thing, Earle. I am a canny businessman and I know a bad investment when I see one.”

He didn’t mention Izzy. His family was his business but damn did it feel sweet to eliminate the bastard who’d abandoned her in the monastery. He cleaned off his knife as the rogue bled out. Those who tangled with him were many and for that very reason he kept Izzy’s existence a secret to the outside world. Anyone who discovered his connection to her was silenced and some were made an example of. A capital idea in Earle’s case. He summoned the cleaners and gestured to the body when they came in.

“Dispose of that in a way that will send a message.” He scowled. “And get rid of the rug.”

They bowed and didn’t bat an eye at the now true corpse as they hauled it, and the rug, away. Back at his desk, he tapped three crystals before hesitating and activating a fourth. Moments later, the gem above his door flared blue, Falcon knocked, and stepped into the room. She stood at attention, arms clasped behind her back as he re-envenomed his knife. The gem flared green and a second knock brought Niko and his faithful pet, Oru. The hunter nodded, his blood red hair obscuring half of his face, and stroked the cat’s head. It purred and stretched, claws testing the floor.

Kav scowled. “Control your beast, Bloodmoon.”

“If he isn’t chewing your cushions, he  _ is _ under control,” Niko retorted.

Blue-white light flared and Paxton ported in with a huff. “You couldn’t have waited?”

“Don’t forget who you work for, little mage,” Kav warned. “And you violated part of your contract by porting in without knocking.”

Pax flinched and whistled when he spotted the blood on the floor. “Point taken. Apologies, Boss.”

He jerked his head in a nod and rose, his fingers curled around the hilt of his blade. “Izzy’s missing.”

The three of them reacted as he expected: Falcon snarled threats in Orcish, Paxton cussed in Common, and Niko remained stoic but Oru growled low, tail lashing in agitation. He cleared his throat and they ceased. Good. Paxton shifted and muttered under his breath and Kav cocked a brow.

“We can’t tell Wrynn. He and his counterpart plan to storm Kalimdor since Onyxia took the prince,” Pax explained.

“We won’t. Stormwind’s stability is paramount to my business interests. If he asks once Onyxia is slain, you’re to tell him that she’s raiding the Black Temple. With all of the demons there it’s plausible it’ll take forever before they make any headway. Keep your ears peeled for news. Reach out to that mage in Shattrath if you have to.”

Paxton rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Once he had his orders he ported out, rude as ever, and Kav made a mental note to add that infraction to his discipline later. He turned to Falcon, who straightened.

“Leave Kith in charge, go to Orgrimmar, and find young Hellscream. I don’t care what it takes, get me everything he knows.”

She saluted him and left. Falcon commanded his personal army but Kith often took over when needed. With that, he turned to Niko. The hunter stood with the silent patience of a predator. One of the many reasons he was one of his favorite operatives.

“Track down these people.” He scribbled out a quick list of Izzy’s closest friends and handed it to him. “Find out what they know. Save her.” He tapped Sunseeker’s name. “For last. Start with the troll.”

Niko nodded, took the list, and left as silently as he came. Kav took a moment to breathe and smooth his hair. One last person to tell but the message had to be delivered delicately and personally, with backup and escape plans firmly in place. He sheathed his knife and left his office, thoughts racing with every step.

The twisting maze of halls he’d spent centuries crafting opened before him like the pages of a well-loved book. He ignored the guards, whores, and servants who bowed to him as he passed, intent on reaching the oasis hidden deep within the center of his kingdom. A pair of frosted glass doors, gleaming with enchantments, opened for him as soon as he approached. Once he crossed the threshold, muggy air slapped him in the face and his clothes stuck to his skin. The greenhouse and atrium were his lover’s finest creations, enchanted to resemble the climate of the Zandalari empire, and a personal haven for the alchemist. Above, birds chattered and flapped between trees. A dragonhawk nest sat even higher, open to the sky. Normally, Kav would have forbade such a security risk, but after Zar demonstrated the enchantments that kept it hidden and impervious, he relented.

As though he could deny him anything.

“Zar?”

“With the blindweed.”

He followed meticulously notated signs and neat, orderly beds of flowers and herbs, took a right at the sungrass, and smiled as his lover came into view. Zar’zek wore little more than a loincloth in deference to the artificial heat and Kav’s mouth watered at all of the bare flesh and powerful, corded muscles on display. He sat cross-legged on the stone path, a smirk on his face. Never one to resist an opportunity, Kav climbed right into the troll’s lap and straddled him with a chuckle.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view.” Zar’s hand cupped his ass and squeezed. “But what brings you here, elfling?”

“I need you to get cleaned up. We have an audience with a queen.” He massaged and squeezed Zar’s broad shoulders, palms ghosting down the fine layer of fur that covered the troll from neck to feet.

“Do we now?” Zar cocked a brow. “And what be the occasion?”

Kav’s touch became less sensual and more tense as he gripped Zar’s arms. “Izzy left Nagrand a fortnight ago and no one has seen her since.” He clenched his teeth. “I have a nasty feeling she walked right into Callidora’s hands.”

“And that be our problem why?”

His head flew up in outrage and if it was possible, he would have scorched Zar with the force of his glare.

“None of that.” Zar’s voice took on that firm, dominant tone that never failed to reduce him to a quivering, begging mess, and squeezed the hand that was going for a knife. “I only be asking because Izzy is a grown woman who can take care of herself and can be making her own decisions.”

“You have no idea what that woman could do to her,” Kav protested. “She’s had over a century of conditioning versus a handful of years of freedom.”

“You not be seeing Izzy’s growth over them years but you will.”

He eyed his lover and stood properly. “What have the spirits said?”

The low, rumbling laugh made him want to tackle Zar where he sat. “You know better than that, elfling. The loa have their secrets and they share when they choose.” He kissed him thoroughly, mindful of tusks, until Kav squirmed and whimpered. Zar stroked his large fingers through his hair. “Good pet. And while I’d enjoy spreading your legs and reminding you of your place, I not be letting you go see the Banshee Queen alone.”

Kav grouched the entire time Zar’zek rinsed off and dressed until his lover caged him against the wall. To “cool that temper” for their meeting, he claimed. By the time he was calm, he needed a quick shower and a change of clothes as well. Kav promised swift and merciless retribution for delaying them, which only made Zar laugh as they departed for Lordaeron.

* * *

Sylvanas frowned when no letter lay on her desk. Exactly two weeks had passed since Isoldera’s last one which meant the messenger should have come and gone. Unless Nathanos finally managed to do what he threatened and caught and killed the intruder but he would have at least brought her the missive if that were the case. She turned to leave her office when her ears pricked. There. A brief flare of arcane magic. The softest brush of leather on stone. She turned slowly, hand lowering to her sword. Her bow would have been ideal in any other space but the confines of her office left her with little room to draw, much less release. She waited, all senses poised to strike.

“Calm yourself Dark Lady. I’m merely here to deliver a message.” The disembodied voice echoed from all around but the shuffle came from the left.

“I prefer to speak to messengers in my throne room.” She tracked his movements until the rustle of cloth and the slight indentation in a chair cushion gave him away. “Show yourself or die.”

An image wavered then flickered into being, revealing a familiar elf but not the one she wanted to see. She scowled.

“I should have known.”

VonTwilight grinned up at her. “Come now Lady Windrunner, I’m merely fulfilling my contract with Priestess Ambershield.”

She cocked a brow at him, a silent command to surrender the missive and be gone. Sadly it had little effect.

“The priestess is currently indisposed and unable to write to anyone. A fact she deeply regrets, I’m certain.”

Indisposed? Her fingers twitched near the handle of her sword but she hid it well. What would cause her little light to stop writing after staying faithful for so long? Her gaze drifted to her desk and the brief memory of a recent report rose. Her spies brought back word of impending civil war between Lor’themar and Kael’thas’ forces but conflict remained stalled as both sides tried to recruit and gain the upper hand.

“How did you come by such information?” she asked.

He smirked at her in the most maddening way and she wondered if he and Nathanos took the same lessons. “I have my sources.”

She sneered and stalked behind her desk, thoughts ticking between possibilities. She could demand answers from him. VonTwilight had experience and skill but he invaded her territory. One of her banshee wails and he would beg to reveal his secrets. But he gave away his position willingly. Her thoughts hit on another point: why deliver the message himself? She narrowed her glare at him but he remained implacable. A change of tactics then. If she couldn’t intimidate him, she’d strike elsewhere.

“When do you expect Isoldera to return?”

“To Azeroth? Difficult to say.”

She smirked. “Your word games are delightful but do not waste my time. Your message has been delivered. Go, before I feed you to my hounds.”

She waved her fingers in dismissal and he bristled, as she anticipated. Men and their fragile pride remained so very predictable. He tried to shrug the insult off but the set of his shoulders and the tic in his temple belied his impotent ire. Sylvanas remained stoic although an amused smirk tried to crack her mask. Without another glance in his direction, she turned most of her attention back to whom she could send to Outlands to gather the information she desired. A part still remained on the rogue.

“I warned her about you but she refused to listen. You’re as cold as the grave you crawled out of.”

The barb stung but she didn’t react. “If you expected a grand show of emotion over the loss of a few scraps of paper then I’m pleased to disappoint you.”

His glare did nothing but highlight how thoroughly she had bested him in his bid for control of their encounter. Magic hummed in the air and vonTwilight vanished from view. She pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment but kept her senses open on the chance he proved suicidal and tried to attack her. A soft huff came from thin air and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his theatrics.

“When you inevitably break her heart I will delight in tearing down everything you’ve built stone by stone,” he said, voice once more coming from all directions, and carrying a heavy warning. “Good day.”

Arcane magic flared and he teleported out, though there was no flash of light or sound to signal his departure. If she hadn’t been a high elf in tune to the arcane she would have missed it. His parting words stirred the embers of her wrath. How dare he threaten her? Her affair with Isoldera was strictly that: hers. What right did he have to - Sylvanas paused. The last threat had been personal. Familial. It hinted at a deeper connection between the rogue and her priestess. The thought didn’t sit well with her at all. 

She studied her options and the blank parchment. While part of her insisted on sending agents to investigate both Isoldera’s silence and the possible connection to vonTwilight, the threat from Naxxramas couldn’t be ignored. She would need her best people to secure the Plaguelands and ensure the Scourge didn’t overtake the Bulwark. Lor’themar already sent requests for aid in defending the pass in southern Quel’thalas. It made no sense to assign valuable assets to track down one priestess.

She bared her teeth. Unholy fire burned its way up her cheeks and her vision turned red. The claws of her gauntlets sank into her desk.

No scream came. She refused to unleash her banshee wail in mindless destruction. She took her anger, frustration, and boxed them up to be unleashed on her foes. Once her wayward emotions were secure, she summoned one of her Dark Rangers. As she waited, her eyes strayed to the spot near the center of her desk.

No more letters. No more quips, words of love, or concerns about her well-being. Such a short amount of time but she already felt the loss. The letters carried her little light’s essence and even though her cold flesh felt no warmth, the loss of Isoldera left her chilled. Her mouth twisted and an ache settled deep in her chest. She needed to hear Isoldera’s laugh again, feel the softness of her hair and body, and hold her close again, even if it meant enduring that wretched Light. Sylvanas wanted to snatch her back but remained bound by her duty to her people and her place as queen.

A firm knock thudded on the thick wood and iron door.

“Enter,” she snapped.

Anya walked in and bowed. “How may I serve you, Dark Lady?”

“Get me the status of the battlefield. The efforts of the adventurers have been paltry of late and I intend to see the Bulwark secured personally.”

“Of course my queen.”

Anya left as quickly as she could, returned moments later with reports, and Nathanos trailing behind. She dismissed her ranger and focused on the maps. Nathanos pointed out several weak spots in their lines and gave her a look when she declared she would close them herself. Sylvanas glared at him but didn’t defend or justify her decision. She couldn’t storm Outlands so she would cut a swathe through the Scourge large enough even that bastard Arthas would feel it from his frozen throne.

Anything to quiet the need, worry, and fear that buried deeper into her heart.

* * *

*** * Two Weeks Ago * ***

“Hello minn’da.”

Her mother hadn’t aged a day. Not even the harsh environment of Netherstorm and arcane withdrawal had dulled Callidora Ambershield’s beauty. For a moment she was younger and the past six years hadn’t happened but she reminded herself it was a pretty lie. Callidora’s radiant smile matched the overly bright fire of her eyes as she rushed down the stairs and embraced her. Izzy remained stiff, one hand tight on Sethy’s reins. Her lack of response got a concerned noise and her mother clutched her hands.

“Aren’t you happy to see me? Darling Dera, it’s been years.” She laced their fingers together. “I’ve missed you.”

She sighed. “I’ve asked you not to call me that minn’da. I’m not a child any longer. As for seeing you again, this isn’t a social visit.” Izzy stepped back, detangling their hands, and crossed her arms. “You cursed our people.”

Callidora frowned, delicate lines pulling between her brows. “Don’t be disrespectful. You know better than to listen to vicious gossip.”

“Is it gossip if I’ve seen firsthand the consequences of what you did?”

She pursed her lips. “It seems you still have a penchant for dramatics. Follow me. You’ve come a long way and are in need of a bath and food.” Her nose crinkled as she took in Izzy’s rumpled adventuring clothes. “Bath first.”

“Minn’da, I said this isn’t - ”

“See that her mount is stabled and properly cared for,” Callidora ordered before turning that wide smile back on Izzy. “My daughter has come home. The Light has truly blessed me this day.”

Izzy shifted on her feet and looked away. That wasn’t the smile she remembered. It stretched too wide across her mother’s face and didn’t reach her eyes. Worry gnawed at her because her mother’s eyes looked like Desi’s: filled with green flames from consuming fel magic. Had her eyes looked like that the last time she saw her? It had been so long, Izzy’s memory faded around the edges. A sound of protest escaped her as they tugged her mount away and gave Callidora the opening she needed to clasp Izzy’s hands again. She stumbled after her mother as she pulled her into the keep.

Callidora clucked her tongue in disapproval. “You used to be so graceful. What have you been doing out there Dera?”

“Healing,” she bit out. “Stop calling me that.”

“Again with the dramatics. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you.” She pulled Izzy into another hug, her fingers digging into Izzy’s hand and shoulder. “I’m so overjoyed to see you, I’ve fallen back into old habits.”

She still smelled of rose perfume, the same roses she grew around her balcony. The roses many high born elven ladies favored, including Sylvanas. Just one smell and she was back home, where she always wanted to be, safe and loved again. No Scourge. No Arthas. She could almost hear Tansil’s laughter as he played with his springer cub and talked about the day he would join the Farstriders. But the weight of her mace on her back reminded her: the past was gone. That life would never come back and she had to hold onto that truth if she wanted to escape her mother’s traps.

Callidora led her to a lovely sitting room where she made and served tea and cake. Izzy’s eyes widened and her stomach growled.

“It’s still your favorite isn’t it?” she asked and laughed.

The sweet, slightly spicy aroma teased her nose. Izzy swallowed. Her mother’s honey cake, covered in golden brown crumbs and a crispy top layer of cake cut to resemble a beehive with two “combs” filled with golden honey, perfectly complemented the tea she served. A rich spice blend she knew as well as her own name. Izzy took a forkful of cake and closed her eyes as she savored the soft layers, the light as air cream, and its slight bitter undertone that, along with the spices, balanced out the sticky, cloying sweetness and made it perfect. She slowly chewed and let the treat seep into her senses.

“I knew it.” Callidora settled across from her, a slightly smug look on her face. “You never change.”

Her appetite suddenly gone, Izzy set her fork aside. “You know nothing about me. But that’s not why I’m here.” She met her mother’s eyes. “Our people are dying from a curse placed on certain rings.”

“And you believe I did it.”

“I know your handiwork, minn’da.” Izzy reached into one of her pant pockets and pulled out a single ring, which she laid next to her plate. Callidora glanced at it, then Izzy, her expression calm. “You’re the one who taught me.”

Callidora picked up the ring and examined it closely. Her eyes flashed brighter and the ring crumbled to dust. Izzy’s eyes widened. Her mother all but admitted that she was responsible. She destroyed the one bit of evidence Izzy had and Izzy cursed herself for being an idiot. She showed her hand too soon.

“So you’re hiding what you’ve done. I should have known. You never admit when you’re wrong.”

“Why would I? Since you seem to have figured it all out, hiding would be pointless.” She gathered the dust, placed it in a small pouch, and picked up her cup. “But it’s clear that you have forgotten where you are, my sweet girl. This is  _ my _ castle. I have spent years building my reputation here. Even if you waved proof of what you say and shouted it from the ramparts, no one of consequence would believe you over their poor, wronged healer.”

Izzy shuddered as she stared at what she could potentially become. Her mother cared about her patients once but something in her must have broken after the war. She used her charm and skills as a healer to manipulate and brainwash others. Thinking back to her interactions with her friends, with Vana, Lo’Gosh, even as recently as Garrosh, Izzy realized she could have done the same thing. She gained their confidence, earned their trust, and sometimes even their love. It was a great gift, one she never planned to abuse, unlike her mother. She curled her shaking fingers into her lap as her mother’s smile grew even wider. Izzy swallowed. She came expecting to battle Callidora.

She didn’t plan to face a monster.

“So now you are here, set to defile the name of Ambershield, condemn your own mother as a monster.” She smirked and Izzy flinched. “And betray our prince. I could forgive much of that but betray Kael’thas? Deny everything our family has ever believed in, fought, and died for?” Her expression hardened. “Such a disgrace.”

Each word, every hurled accusation, pierced Izzy’s heart and tore her confidence to shreds. She was a child again, unable to save a dying bird or a sick child, and tears welled up as the weight of her mother’s disappointment crushed her. Unable to bear the shame, Izzy grit her teeth and looked away. Her mother was right. She hadn’t changed. All her adventures, all of the progress she thought she made, and she still failed to live up to the family legacy. Izzy swiped at her eyes and cursed herself for crying.

“Now, now, I don’t say these things to hurt you.” Warm, gentle hands closed over hers and squeezed. “But to teach you. You have been without my guidance for so long, you forgot what it means to be an Ambershield.”

Izzy weakly tugged at her hands and shook her head. “No. No, you’re the one who left me. You’re the one who forgot.”

Her mother’s voice soothed the angry tears in her heart. “It was only to build a new, proper home for you, for all of our people. Well, it’s built, my sweet girl, and I’m here now.” She stroked her thumb over the back of Izzy’s hand. “Mother’s here.”

The tender words cracked and broke her heart. She ached to throw her arms around her mother and cling to her like she used to. Surrounded by warmth and comfort, familiar scents, and soothing touches, Izzy let the tears fall freely and she gave in. She clung to her mother and sobbed into her lap.

“I know. I know, my sweet girl. You’ve been alone for so long, tried so hard to be strong, and while you may have failed, that changes now. Together, we’ll shape you into the priestess, the woman, you were meant to be.”

Gentle hands continued to stroke over her head but didn’t sink into her curls. The smooth motions, gentle and patient, reinforced her healing wounds. The desperate urge to be the person she could be, the person who would bring pride to her family name and become someone more, someone strong, overwhelmed her. She had been alone for a long time. With no idea of the right path to take, she stumbled all over Azeroth in a blind search for something that lay within her grasp all along. If only she’d returned to her mother sooner. The regret ate at her but she would change. She’d make them all proud.

Them? Izzy frowned. There was only her mother. Minn’da was the only family she had left, the only family who knew what it meant to be an Ambershield.

Wasn’t she?

_ “I’m proud and amazed by the strength you’re showing…” _

Ali’s voice, gentle and encouraging, floated up from the depths of her memory. She shook her head. Wrong. Ali was wrong. She wasn’t showing strength, she hadn’t earned it. She was a mess, a disgraceful, lonely mess, but minn’da promised to make her better. That was true and right. Ali was wrong so Izzy pushed her memory away but other voices rose to take her place.

_ “You’re  _ our _ gibbering mess…wouldn’t have you any other way.” _

_ “You’re their hero you know…” _

_ “You’ve worked hard and given so much.” _

_ “You don’t have to go through this alone.” _

Slowly, the voices rose in chorus. The people whose lives she’d touched. They all did their best to build her up and convince her of her worth but Izzy spent so long chasing after the shadow of the woman who abandoned her and manipulated others she became blind to it all. They stood by her side when she needed them most. They embraced her and forgave her and laughed with her. Sylvanas’ small smirk and the passion of her kiss showed how much she missed her. The growing heat and vulnerability in Lo’Gosh’s blue eyes as he allowed her closer than anyone else touched her heart. They loved her.

They always loved her.

Izzy sat up and pulled away, tears drying and voice raw. “I already am the woman I was meant to be.”

Callidora sighed and shook her head. “My sweet girl, I don’t know what you believe but - ”

“That’s right. You don’t.” She stood and moved for the door, keeping her mother in sight at all times. “So don’t talk about what you don’t understand.”

“Stop being dramatic. This behavior is unbecoming of an Ambershield.”

“Then so be it. You seem to forget that Ambershield is just a name, minn’da. A name I would give up in a heartbeat. Who knows? I may take on the name vonTwilight.” She shrugged and smirked.

Callidora rose, her eyes narrowed and her full lips twisted in disgust. “I don’t expect a child to understand the lengths I’ve gone to ensure our legacy. If you think running around consorting with beasts and corpses will bring renown to our family, then perhaps it’s best you are no longer a part of it.”

A foreboding chill shot down her spine and a hand drifted to her nearest knife. Her mace was too big and the room too cramped. She wouldn’t be able to get a single good swing in. The furniture was all obstacles. Worse, she didn’t know if there were hidden rooms or ways to summon guards. Izzy clenched her hands into fists. Her mother’s unrelenting glare and crossed arms spoke volumes.

“Then I renounce the name Ambershield. I don’t need it and I don’t need  _ you _ ,” Izzy spat and opened the door. “Shorel’aran, minn’da.”

“Leave now and your friend dies a gruesome, horrible death along with those innocent children you left in Silvermoon.”

Izzy froze midstep. Her hand rattled on the doorknob.

“Your whore of a cousin isn’t the only one with a large and thorough information network.” Callidora smiled and gestured to the tea. “It’s in your best interest to remain here and submit, sweet girl. I fear I have done you a disservice by leaving you alone all these years. I must reeducate you on what it means to be an Ambershield.”

Bargain. She needed to bargain. “If anything happens to me, Kav will tear this keep, you, and your precious prince apart piece by piece as you beg for a mercy that will never come.” Izzy turned, slow and deliberate. “And I will find a way to return from beyond the Veil just to see him mount your head on his fucking wall.”

Callidora’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “You reek of his influence. You’ve even started speaking like him. I’ll have to ensure that is purged from you before presenting you to Kael’thas.” She sighed. “But very well. Never let it be said I can’t be reasonable.” She settled in her chair once more and gestured to the sofa.

Izzy crossed the room and re-took her seat, eyes firmly on her mother, and pulse hammering in her ears. The one monster she couldn’t slay by force. She prayed her time with Kav taught her enough to outmaneuver the woman who wrapped her deeper and tighter into her web.

“I don’t make any arrangements unless they’re in writing.”

Callidora sighed and rang for a servant to bring the necessary writing materials. Izzy coached herself through her breathing and grounding exercises as she cobbled together a plan. She braced herself to make concessions and put on an act that, while it wouldn’t fool her mother, it would placate her long enough for Izzy to plan an escape. The girl arrived and as Callidora thanked her, Izzy took the chance to examine the ink, pens, and paper for spells. Nothing except a duplication spell on the paper. Her shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit.

“So suspicious when I’ve agreed to make this arrangement with you out of the goodness of my heart. I could just as easily arrange a stay in our prison cells for you while I deal with your little friends.”

Izzy’s chest tightened. “And you don’t think people would ask questions about why you threw your only daughter in a cell?”

“Of course they would. They’d want to know all about the troubled, rebellious child who broke her mother’s heart.”

Bile threatened to come up but Izzy swallowed it back. She wore her disdain clear on her face and her mother scoffed at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve done nothing but be their source of comfort and care so far from home.” Her eyes flashed. “Their light in the darkness, if you will.”

Chills shot down her arms. How many spies did she have? How long had she watched her? Worse, she didn’t know who could have spoken to her mother so she couldn’t even ferret out the traitor and cut ties with them. Izzy’s heart thudded as more thoughts rushed in. Did she know about Sylvanas? Lo’Gosh? What else did she know? How much influence had her mother built over the years? Izzy laced her fingers together but Callidora’s knowing smirk declared her failure to hide her trembling.

“There.” Callidora flourished the contract and laid it before her. “A very simple agreement. You willingly remain here as my loving, dutiful daughter in exchange for Sunseeker’s life.”

Izzy read it over thoroughly before adding her own stipulations. “If anyone is harmed as a result of this contract, Desi, Kav, the children, anyone I’m close to, then it’s void.”

Callidora huffed. “You think you are worth all of those lives? You’ve become quite conceited.” She smiled. “I will endeavor to correct that.”

“Not conceited, merely covering all my bases. Further,” Izzy added another addendum. “If you or I die, this contract is void.” At her mother’s nod, she continued. “If I am forced to obey you, coerced in any way, it’s void.” She kicked herself for almost missing something and hastily added, “Whoever renders the contract void will forfeit everything they agreed upon. If you break it, I will be freed and you will not touch my loved ones directly, or through others, until your death. If I break it - ”

“You will remain here. You will obey all of my edicts, you will never try to escape, and you will never see anyone I do not approve of.”

Izzy scowled. “Fine. And as far as obedience goes, you will give me no less than two choices and I will choose which to obey.”

“Acceptable.”

She finished writing in the extra clauses and examined it from every angle. She believed she covered as many potential loopholes as she could and decided to pass the paper back to her mother.

“You negotiate like a merchant, not a lady of breeding.” Callidora took the pen and added one more line. “This contract may be amended or added to at any time - ”

“As long as both parties agree,” Izzy countered.

A frown flickered across Callidora’s face before that wide smile replaced it. “Of course my sweet girl.”

With that final notation added, Izzy agreed to sign. Her mother went first, her signature as graceful and bold as she remembered. Izzy took the pen when it was given to her but hesitated. Something didn’t feel right. Unease prickled across her skin and Kav’s voice whispered warnings in her ear. She read the agreement again but it was all laid out in clear, concise terms. Her freedom for Desi’s, her obedience in exchange for sparing her loved ones. Her hand shook and she glanced at her mother. Callidora sipped her tea with a content smile. That disturbed her more. Her mother was too confident.

“I suggest you sign my girl. Otherwise you’re going to kill your dear friend. Poor thing. She won’t ever wake up.”

Izzy’s hand shook. Despite her misgivings, she signed, earned a tut at her messy handwriting, and set down the pen. Callidora tapped a rune at the bottom corner of the parchment and it duplicated. Izzy snatched her copy up before her mother could destroy it. Callidora giggled as if she were a child or pet who just did something amusing.

“We have an agreement,” Izzy snapped, desperation clawing at the back of her mind. “Release Desi.”

“After you’ve settled into your new chambers, bathed, and changed into a proper gown. It wouldn’t do to shame our family name with such an unkempt appearance.” Callidora rolled up her copy and tucked it into a side table.

Izzy’s cheeks burned. “That wasn’t our agreement, minn’da.”

Callidora hummed in thought and sighed. “Oh yes, of course. I didn’t offer you choices.” She sipped her tea. “They are thus: either accompany me to your new rooms and perform the tasks asked of you or don’t fulfill those tasks and the contract becomes void. I’m certain you know what that means.”

It felt like being hit with a cannonball. Or a hammer wielded by a Tauren. The air left her lungs in a whoosh as the trap snapped closed. Thinking fast, she scrambled for some sort of counter argument.

“Until Desi is released from the curse, I don’t have to be a dutiful, loving daughter. The only stipulation was that I agree to stay here willingly in exchange for Desi’s life. I’ve done that. You haven’t fulfilled your end so you would be the one breaking the contract. I’m certain you know what that means,” she parrotted.

Callidora pursed her lips. “You would deny my entirely reasonable request to walk around like that? In peasant clothes and reeking like that uncouth orc you were determined to debase yourself with?”

Izzy’s face flamed and her hackles rose. “Putting that disrespectful and false accusation aside, I’m perfectly content as I am.”

Her underlying message rang clear: she would not change who she was to please her mother and Callidora could deal with it or the headache that came from trying to outmaneuver her. Her mother’s expression darkened but Izzy didn’t care. After a long, tense silence, Callidora ordered her enchanting materials and a mirror be brought to her. Izzy watched as her mother used another ring as a conduit for the curse removal. She frowned. Had her mother studied mage techniques? She didn’t count on that. When she finished, Callidora picked up the mirror and tapped its edge. Desi appeared, asleep in her coma, with Lady Liadrin beside her. She stirred. No sound came from the mirror but Izzy felt Liadrin’s cry as Desi opened her eyes and sat up. Her heart soared. She reached for the mirror but the image vanished.

“I have fulfilled my end of the bargain.” Callidora laid the mirror aside. “Now it’s your turn. Follow my reasonable request or be stripped and scrubbed against your will.”

“That - ” Izzy cleared her throat to get a grip on her shock. “That wasn’t your original offer.”

“Wasn’t it? I think your memory may be slipping my sweet girl.” She finished her cup of tea.

Izzy closed her eyes. “Very well. I’ll do as you ask, minn’da.”

“Now was that so hard? Honestly, Dera, you’ve become as coarse as an orc. Not the lady I raised at all.” Callidora set her cup down and rose, her smile firmly back in place. “No matter. I look forward to re-educating you.”

Struggling to regain her balance, Izzy followed her mother from the sitting room and kept her head down as she was taken to her rooms. Her prison cell. It was far more plush and comfortable, with a decadently indulgent bath and delicious food, but a cage made of gold remained a cage. As she washed and dressed, the reality of her situation crashed down over her. Not five minutes after their agreement and her mother tried to twist it to her advantage. She used Desi as a distraction to keep Izzy off balance. Callidora knew how she felt about consent and touching. She  _ wanted _ Izzy to refuse her request so she’d have the chance to humiliate and break her down.

The hot bath couldn’t warm her icy blood as she hugged her knees to her chest. What the hell had she done?

For two weeks, Izzy remained on guard. She didn’t eat, she barely slept, paranoid and constantly looking for a trick or trap. The more time went on, the more tense she became. She never left her single pack out of her sight, checked on Sethy at least once a day, and never spoke with anyone who came to clean her rooms or collect her clothes. Everything came to a head at the end of the fortnight when her mother declared her ready to have dinner with Prince Kael’thas and his court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday everyone and hoo boy, that was one hell of a chapter. Not gonna lie, Callidora scares me but I love writing her, and it's been a blast giving Izzy impossible situations to get herself out of. The inspiration music of this chapter was from Takarazuka's play, "Elisabeth: Ai to Shi no Rondo," and the song is Yami ga Hirogaru. Highly recommend.
> 
> Also, I have some new sites! I have a Twitter and a Tumblr just for this fic universe where I'll be posting snippets, character facts, and any art I may commission or am gifted (on the off chance that happens.) Links can be found in my profile but I'll also post them here.
> 
> Thanks for dropping by this little corner of Azeroth, your kudos and comments always bring a smile to my face and a desire to keep bringing the best content I'm capable of. Take care all and see you next week!
> 
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/celenacallagha9
> 
> Tumblr: https://celenacallaghan.tumblr.com/


	16. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings - Physical Violence, Psychological Break

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’thalas**

Izzy covered the envelopes on her desk and pulled them close. Her glare would have incinerated a lesser being but the babbling idiot in front of her just kept going as though she wasn’t planning the messiest way to get him to shut up.

“Lady Callidora gave her conditions.” Antares’ expression tried to remain neutral but Izzy didn’t miss his small leer. “She said that you may certainly send your letters but they will be read so as to ensure you are remaining her loving, dutiful daughter. It’s entirely your choice on whether you send them or not.”

She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. Her prison grew smaller by the day. No contact with the outside world, not her friends or even the people in the keep, and the few times she had been let out of her room, it was to attend some insipid dinner party. Minn’da and her select minions picked and prodded her over hours of dancing and feasting. In preparation for dining with Kael’thas, they said. She hated every minute but played her role to perfection. No sense in giving her mother reason to twist the terms of their agreement more than she already did.

Blessed Belore, she needed Kav. She’d been played by a master after an intense emotional awakening. She finally saw just how much her friends and family strove to build up her confidence only to trap herself in her mother’s clutches. Kav’s warning about signing anything while emotionally distraught came up again and again and Izzy reaped the cost of her novice mistake.

“I changed my mind.” Izzy clutched her letters in both hands. “I won’t be sending them after all.”

“As my lady wishes.” He gestured to the box on her bed. “Lady Callidora insisted you dress for dinner. She had the tailors craft this for you.”

Another slap in the face. Izzy radiated pure murder and her tone carried a promise of pain. “Get. Out.”

His smirk fell and he excused himself too quickly to be considered polite. Once she was alone again, she set the letters down and opened the box. Her lip curled in disdain. A gold and lace monstrosity, with a plunging neckline and a slit that went far too high. Kav’s whores wore similar dresses and Izzy didn’t begrudge them if they enjoyed it but it wasn’t her taste. Not to mention she was a master tailor. To have anyone else craft her clothing was the kind of sinister jab at her pride Callidora specialized in. She threw it aside and went back to her desk. The letters lay in a neat pile, Sylvanas’ on top.

“Goddamnit,” she shouted and sank onto the chair, wiping at her eyes. “Can’t even keep one promise.” She stroked her fingers over the swirls of her name, aching to be in her arms again. “I miss you Vana. I miss you so much. I promise - ” Izzy caught herself and buried her face in her arms, howling in frustration. “I can’t even say I’m going to get out of here! Ugh, that heartless bitch.”

With tears flowing down her cheeks and chin, Izzy summoned her magic and incinerated Sylvanas’ letter. Every word, memory, and feeling she put on paper gone in a flash. Better gone than mocked and used as ammunition against her. She burned through the rest as fast as she could until she reached the one for Lo’Gosh. No word. Not a whisper. Sometimes she wondered why she kept sending them to him. But it was the same reason that allowed her to keep going, instead of dissolving into ash like the last bits of paper.

She couldn’t give up hope. Somehow, some way, she’d find an opening, a trick, a chance. She wouldn’t be trapped forever. Until she found it though, she had to stay strong, be smart, and fight back however she could.

Starting with the gold dress.

Izzy burned the last letter and rose. She still had her pack, thank Belore. With the use of her tailoring tools, she transformed the gold dress into something simpler, much more elegant, but no less beautiful. The plunging neckline she covered with a fine layer of wispy tulle and made it a turtleneck. She pieced together a quick petticoat out of her top sheet and draped the slit artfully around the flounces. As a final touch, she tore off the lace sleeves and decided to go with bare arms. All the better to show off her strong shoulders and biceps. It also served as a subtle message that Izzy wasn’t a soft target anymore.

The sour look on her mother’s face was worth it as Izzy glided into the dining room hours later. Her momentary triumph melted into shock but she kept her expression neutral. Prince Kael’thas joined them at last.

“What  _ have _ you done to that dress? The tailors went to so much effort to have it ready for tonight.” She shook her head. “My apologies, Your Highness. To think that my daughter has become so ungrateful.”

“Nothing to forgive my lady. If anything, I admire a woman unwilling to show her flesh to catch a man’s eyes.” Kael’thas raked his eyes over her when she entered the dining room, taking note of all the changes she made to her gown.

Izzy would have put her fist in his face for leering but her mother’s comment incensed her more and she focused all of her irritation on Callidora as courtiers tittered around them. Of course her mother remained unflappable as always, damn her. Kael’thas approached and Izzy curtseyed, a polite smile pasted on her face. As he took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. His palm was too soft, no calluses or scars to speak of. The hands of a pampered mage. While many women sighed over the strong lines of his jaw and waist length, golden hair, Izzy remained unmoved.

“At least you didn’t change the color,” Callidora commented, a glass of wine in one hand.

“What does the color have to do with - ?” She stopped herself and scowled. “Minn’da you didn’t.”

Kael’thas wore the royal colors of crimson with gold accents. His hair, braided at the temples, was held in place by a gold clasp, and a ruby-encrusted gold circlet rested on his brow. Coordinated outfits. Izzy grit her teeth and forced her polite mask to remain. Callidora’s slyly pleased smile grew at her compliance and Izzy was tempted to belch like an orc at dinner (she thanked Garrosh for the lesson) just to wipe it off her face. That image alone was enough to bring out a true grin and a soft chuckle.

“Do I amuse you, priestess?”

“Ah, forgive me, Prince Kael’thas. I merely found my mother’s deliberate coordination of our outfits amusing.”

“Please, no titles between us. You must call me Kael as you once did, Dera.”

She made a face. “I don’t know if my mother told you but I outgrew that nickname long ago. For the past decade I’ve been Izzy.”

“A pedestrian name. It doesn’t suit you.” He waved that aside and offered his arm. “Allow me.”

She rested her fingertips on his arm and fought down her urge to gag. He reeked of fel magic and potent cologne and the combination turned her stomach. Still, she acted charmed by his inane chatter, laughed politely at his quips, and nodded her way through many a tiresome conversation. Whether Silvermoon or Netherstorm, it was all the same affair: endless chatter and flowing wine so attendees would get too drunk to remember they were all depressed and bored with their lives.

Except in Netherstorm, she didn’t have Sylvanas nearby to make the hours more bearable. Her heart clenched as she remembered the last ball the two of them had attended. Not together. Never together, not back then. They shared many a dance and whispered flirtation, riling each other up, until she lured Vana into the gardens and proceeded to play chase with the fierce Ranger General. Her cheeks heated at the memory of being caught, gently tackled to the thick grass beneath a willow tree, fiery kisses and wandering hands -

“Your face is rather flushed. Are you well, Isoldera?” Kael’thas asked, breaking her delicious daydream, and pissing her off.

“Quite well thank you.”

He chuckled in the most condescending way and patted her hand before continuing on like she hadn’t said anything. Izzy seethed. Anywhere else would have been better than dealing with the puffed-up popinjay of a prince. Fel, she’d rather be naked in the Scholomance again than continue the charade of revelry. Eventually, they sat down to dinner, with Kael’thas escorting her to the front of the room. A long table, set for three, waited for them. He pulled out her chair for her and bowed.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she settled. Her nerves were on high alert as she was now in an open, vulnerable position with people who wanted to harm her. “Aren’t we eating with everyone else?”

“Not tonight,” Callidora declared and joined them a moment later, her sky blue gown swishing around her feet. “Tonight is a special occasion.” She thanked Kael as he pulled out her chair before she sat.

“Oh?” Izzy fought down the edge of panic that scraped along her spine. “I wasn’t aware of a reason to celebrate.”

Kael’thas smiled at her and lifted her hand. Instead of kissing her knuckles, he pressed kisses to the tips of her fingers and alarm bells shrieked in her mind. She tried to pull back but he laced their hands together in a tight grip and laid hers on the table. No escape. Izzy turned to her mother, demanding answers with her eyes. Callidora merely smiled and signalled for the wine to be served.

They were going to make her ask. Unable to bear the anxiety, Izzy cleared her throat. “What’s the occasion?”

Kael laughed, smooth and charming, and stroked her hand. “I knew your daughter was shy Callidora but you didn’t tell me how delightfully innocent she is.”

“I didn’t wish to spoil the surprise of discovery.” Callidora tapped her goblet with a golden spoon to get the attention of the room.

Conversation faded and all eyes turned to the head table. Izzy’s heart raced. What were they up to? Kael’thas rose in his seat, releasing her hand for the moment and Izzy took the chance to palm one of the dinner knives. While all eyes were on him, including her mother’s, she also took two of their spoons so as not to raise suspicion.

“Thank you all for coming this evening.” His voice and smile were smooth as silk, wrapping around the room and its people with ease. “I’m pleased to announce that while House Sunstrider will no longer be royalty in deference to my father’s sacrifice, I have still chosen to continue my family’s legacy.”

Dread slowly morphed into horror as Izzy started putting the pieces together. She shot her mother a frantic look but Callidora’s smile remained, brilliant in its beauty, though her eyes sharpened with warning. Kael’thas reached down and lifted her to her feet. Izzy, too stunned to resist, stood and opened her mouth to stop him -

“During these trying times, we must strive harder than ever to preserve our culture and our blood, even in this dying world. Which is why I am declaring my engagement to Lady Isoldera Ambershield.”

She almost vomited on the golden plates.

Applause and cheers of congratulations rang throughout the room but Izzy was numb to it all. Kael kissed her hand, the consummate gentleman, and helped her sit once more. As the main course was served and talk resumed, Izzy grabbed her mother’s arm.

“I don’t consent to this,” she hissed, leaning in so as not to be overheard.

“It is an Ambershield’s obligation to ensure the well being of the royal line. Prince Kael’thas is the last of his house. He may not ascend to be king but his bloodline must be preserved at all costs, which means taking a wife and bearing an heir.” Callidora remained calm, her voice even and reasonable, while Izzy’s world shattered around her. “If you are an Ambershield, you will accept your duty.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you will not wed him.” Izzy almost breathed in relief until Callidora continued. “You will merely serve as his concubine until you bear a healthy heir.”

Izzy stared at her for several heartbeats as she struggled to regroup. One thing remained clear though: she would never bed Kael’thas. Not as his wife and not as his broodmare. Her hands trembled with the effort it took not to strike her mother at the dinner table but the chatter of the room reminded her where she was. Any display would fuel gossip and turn the court against her. It would paint a target on her back and make her dependent on her mother for protection.

“You plan to sell me to a man I don’t want, force me to bear his child, and you don’t see any issue with your logic?”

“I do not. You are a noblewoman, Isoldera. This is part of family duty.”

Thinking fast, she zeroed in on part of the contract. “Will you force me to choose, minn’da?”

“I have given you your two options, as stipulated.” She tasted the soup and sighed. “Always cold. If good help weren’t so hard to find, I would have those so-called cooks out on their ears.”

“We never said I couldn’t refuse to choose either option. So are you going to coerce me to choose?”

Callidora’s smile turned sly and she chuckled. “Oh sweet girl, did you think I would forget that little detail? Never. Which is why I am emphasizing that it is part of your role as a dutiful daughter.”

“It is in my role to marry but I have the right to refuse any potential spouse.”

She frowned. “Now you’re picking at threads. Do not forget that while you are here, you are dependent on me. I have been generous since you have behaved yourself thus far and acted like a proper Ambershield but I can just as easily be cruel.”

Izzy snorted under her breath. “I know that better than anyone here.” She placed her napkin on the table and rose. “If you’ll excuse me minn’da, Your Highness, I find I’ve lost my appetite.”

She gathered her skirts and curtseyed to the prince before fleeing the dining chamber. The safety of her cage called to her. The absurd irony of that thought made her laugh. An edge of hysteria made it too loud, too high, and Izzy forced herself to stop. She couldn’t break down, not in the middle of enemy territory. Nowhere was safe. Anything she said or did would be turned against her in minn’da’s bid to get her to break the contract. Izzy closed and locked her door, panting like a thoroughbred after an intense race. Another hysterical sound that might have been a laugh bubbled up.

Izzy stripped off her gown, retrieved the knife she’d hidden in the skirts, and stared at the gold monstrosity. Her mother, her prince, they all wanted to debase and humiliate her. Control her. Her hands shook and she threw it into the fire with a frustrated scream. As the flames consumed the layers of silk and satin, Izzy changed into trousers and a shirt in anticipation of a fight. When he came for her, she’d be ready.

Hours passed. Izzy paced and exercised, unwilling to sleep but exhausted from remaining tense and alert for so long. Her thoughts dashed about in a chaotic storm and she vibrated with manic energy. If only Kav were there. He’d throw her in the training grounds again and let her work herself to exhaustion. The thought of being back in his compound and far away from her nightmare felt like a sweet, unattainable dream.

The lock clicked.

Izzy sat and stood up. No one besides her mother had keys to her rooms, or so she believed. Kael’thas strode in, most of his regalia gone, but he still bore the gold circlet and richly embroidered shirt and pants. He caught her glare and chuckled.

“Don’t look at me like that my dear. You should have known this was coming.” He locked the door again and pocketed the key.

“I’ll look at you how I choose and right now, I’m looking at scum between an ogre’s toes.” She tilted her head. “Or I could go further and look at you like I would a shit eating worm instead.”

He sighed. “You’re being difficult. I don’t have to be kind to obtain what I want.”

“And I don’t have to stand here and listen to you whine but neither of us are getting what we want.”

He barked a laugh and crossed the room with long, fluid strides. “You’ve always been so quick with that tongue.” Long fingers reached out and grasped her chin. “Tonight I plan to put it to far better use.”

She jerked her head away and shuddered. He scowled at her, a dark, hungry look rising in his eyes, and lunged. Taken by surprise, Izzy’s back slammed against the wall and knocked the breath from her. Her mouth fell open in a gasp and Kael’thas covered it with his, cutting off her air and silencing her. Izzy’s lungs burned and in her rising panic, she bit him with all her strength.

“Agh!” He jerked back, blood staining his lips and teeth. “You little bitch.”

He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. Dazed, Izzy stumbled and he bashed her again. Pain exploded in her temple and her vision swam, greying at the corners as she fought to stay conscious. Kael’thas yanked hard enough on her hair to bring tears to her eyes as he manhandled her onto the bed. She healed her immediate head injury and eyes but wasn’t quick enough to stop Kael from mounting her. Izzy hissed and thrashed, jabbed the big veins of his inner thighs, and he buckled with a shout.

She didn’t waste her chance.

Izzy threw all her weight into getting him onto his back and her knife at his throat. Kael’thas stilled. Her hand remained steady, all of her muscles coiled for a fight. He raked her with an appraising gaze.

“Your mother underestimates you.”

“And now you know better.” He tensed his muscles and she dug her blade deeper. “None of that. I’m going to give  _ you _ a choice now. Either get the fuck out and never touch me again or I spill royal blood and end the Sunstrider line here.”

He snarled. “Threaten me all you want but we both know you’re powerless. The minute I leave this room, I will ensure everyone you love is executed. That whore vonTwilight. The unnatural beast Forsaken and his shadow priestess. That troll and worthless paladin.” His eyes gleamed with malice. “The children.”

Izzy’s hand shook.

Kael’thas leered at her. “And since the orders come from me thanks to this insult, it has nothing to do with your little agreement with Callidora.” His hands slid up her thighs and over her hips. “Feeling a bit more cooperative now?”

Helpless fury burned through her. She believed her friends could take care of themselves. Kav especially. He had a Light-be-damned fortress to protect himself and his people from. But the children...they had no one. Mellandre wasn’t a fighter. And if the prince himself ordered the orphans brought to Outlands, who would question him? He had her. He really had her. The knife dropped from her numb fingers.

“That’s more like it.”

The triumphant note in his voice cut through her growing malaise. She grit her teeth, tempted to wrap her fingers around his neck. He couldn’t threaten the children if he was dead. Izzy glanced at the knife. A split second hesitation but it gave her away. Kael grabbed the ends of her hair and yanked her off of him. Izzy screeched and tumbled off the bed. She scrambled to recover only to catch a brief glimpse of his fist before she dropped again.

“Bitch,” he hissed and kicked her in the ribs. “Who do you think you are? I am your prince. You will not disrespect me like this!”

“Fuck you!” she spat.

Izzy focused on breathing and blocking as many of his blows as she could. He kicked her again and again, burned her with his magic, stomped on her hands, and ripped at her hair. Pain came from everywhere. Her mind spun as she tried to comprehend it all but her body was in too much shock. Her vision clouded. Somehow she ended up on her back with him on top of her. She groaned and turned her head away, blocking him with her arms, so he couldn’t knock out her teeth or break her jaw.

“You are  _ nothing _ . I am on my way to greatness and I will _ not _ be stopped by the likes of you.”

She peered at him from between her arms. He was little more than a mass of blonde hair with two, poison green flames for eyes, and a red blob for robes. It was such a funny image, like a child’s first finger painting, she laughed.

“Something  _ amuse _ you?” he spat.

“Heh,” she coughed, blood staining her lips and teeth, heavy and metallic on her tongue. “Glad I don’t have to fuck you. Your cock must be the size of a gnome’s finger if you’re compensating for your failures  _ this _ badly.”

His roar and the fist that cracked across her cheek was almost welcome. She didn’t have a plan except stop him from raping her so she goaded him more. Eventually the pain grew to the phase she saw in patients when they were in so much shock they felt nothing when she popped limbs back into sockets or set broken bones. Izzy curled in on herself and did her best to protect her face and sensitive organs. She’d wake up soon. Dawn always came. The nightmare would end. Time passed in a haze until the door slammed closed and the only sound was the crackle and pop of the fire.

Izzy reached for the Light, her thoughts jumbled. For the first time since the war, she truly needed it. She couldn’t feel her legs and every part of her that still had feeling throbbed in agony. Blood stained the floor beneath her head and her right arm hung bent at the wrong angle at her side. If she didn’t heal herself, she was going to die. Breath rattling in her ringing ears, she stretched her senses, begging the Light for its help, but it remained elusive and just out of reach. She strained harder. Her thoughts bled together and her focus crumbled. The Light slipped away like water through her fingers.

Silent tears suppressed through Kael’s beating slid down her numb cheeks. All of those years believing. Wasted. That last act of spite, dangling the power to save herself just out of reach when she needed it the most, shattered her. She was going to die alone in the dark and never get the chance to tell her loved ones how much they meant to her or how much their love saved her.

The walls closed in. Trapped in her worst nightmare. It wasn't fair. It just  _ wasn't fair. _

The lock clicked and the door creaked open but Izzy just stared, unseeing, at the wall as her vision turned soft and watery.

“My poor, sweet girl.” Something touched her curls and she tensed but a wave of healing magic washed over her.

It eased her injuries but seared her like a brand from the inside out. Izzy would have  screeched if she had any energy left. The touch of fel magic wracked her with waves of fresh agony as she struggled to stay conscious. Passing out in front of her mother was a terrible idea but the longer the magic worked to heal her the more the fel burned. She managed a glare at Callidora but her mother simply sighed.

“Go ahead. Reach for your precious Light. It has abandoned you as it did all of us.”

She didn't want to believe it. If it were true, Izzy didn't know how she'd survive. No more hope. No more dawn. A lifetime of night loomed before her if it was true. Izzy took a shallow breath and concentrated as best she could. She reached for the Light again. One more time. One last chance. Her magic brushed against something. Warmth rushed in, familiar and welcoming, and Izzy almost wailed with relief. Wrong. Callidora was wrong. The Light was with her, even after everything she'd been through. She opened her senses to it and guided it to the worst of her injuries -

Only to scream in agony.

The Light burned worse than the fel magic. It flared, brilliant and enraged, at the presence of demonic magic. As quickly as it came, it fled. Coldness washed over her.

Gone.

The Light was gone.

Her inner magic flickered and died. A candle snuffed by an icy draft.

Panic rose as she reached for it again but nothing answered her call. An endless, empty void loomed in her senses and within her soul. She struggled to heal her wounds, to call on spells that once came so easily, but nothing happened. Broken, wounded wails bubbled up and erupted from her as she screamed and sobbed.

“I'm so sorry.” Callidora cradled her in her arms and stroked her hair. “I know, I know, it's terrible. I went through the exact same thing. The Light rejects anything it perceives as outside of its order. You were touched by fel and it rejected you.”

“But I'm not - I'm not! I never - I wasn't - ”

“Shhhh,” she shushed and kissed Izzy's head. “There's still a way for you to heal. You want to heal, don't you?”

Izzy nodded frantically. Healing was her path. She knew it the way she knew her name. To be anything else…hysterical sobs mixed with gasping breaths as she spiraled deeper into darkness.

“Here. Drink this, sweet girl, and it will save you.”

Her senses woke up with painful intensity as she caught a whiff of magic. It taunted her, teased her with its sparkling energy and fresh - she heaved and flinched as her muscles protested the sudden tensing. That wasn’t arcane magic. Callidora pressed a goblet filled with poison green liquid to her lips.

“No.  _ No _ .” Izzy turned her head away.

Her stomach cramped in on itself and she groaned. She couldn't drink fel blood. The stories…she didn't want anything else about her to change. She'd lost too much. The blood sparked and sizzled, alive with power, and whispered of the strength she could gain. One sip. One sip and she could heal again. She could save herself, get back to her loved ones, and recover. But terror gripped her by the throat.

“Drink, Isoldera.”

Izzy shook her head and pinched her lips tight but it wasn't enough. Her mother pried open her mouth at the jaw hinge and dribbled a few drops into her mouth. The burst of magic inflamed her and chased away the cold the Light left behind. Then it burned hotter. Fiercer. Izzy's head pounded and her body cramped in pain but she'd never felt so strong. She snatched the goblet from her mother's hands and drained it. Liquid magma coursed through her body, lit up all of her senses, and she directed the magic to heal her wounds. Her veins glowed brilliant green against her skin.

Callidora smiled and touched her cheek. “Beautiful, isn’t it? And there’s more where that came from, so long as you do exactly as I say.”

Take orders? From her? New thoughts bubbled to the surface along with her newfound strength. The Light may have forsaken her but the demon blood gave her so much more. She formed a knife of fel fire with a thought and kept it tucked at her side. No more orders. No more tepid attempts at freedom. Izzy would take what she wanted and she’d start with her freedom. Slowly, she turned towards her smiling mother. So pleased with herself. So confident in her victory.

So easy to slaughter.

With an inhuman scream, Izzy launched herself at Callidora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was intense to write but damn am I pleased with it. I originally had this fic at 20 chapters but I think I'll be able to finish with 19, including a Christmas-themed epilogue <3 I am gonna need all that softness after these latest chapters, hoo boy.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and sane and, as always, thank you so much for your support and hanging out in Izzy's corner of Azeroth. Until next week!


	17. Blood on Your Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning - Violence, Gore, Suicidal Thoughts

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’thalas**

Tempest Keep somehow got gloomier since she escaped. Desi adjusted her bracers and double checked all of the buckles and latches of her armor as she stared at its towering spires. When she woke up two weeks ago, pain free and starving, she believed it a miracle of the Light, especially when the first thing she saw was Lady Liadrin leaning over her and holding her hand. Desi’s heart did its traitorous tap dance and she thought everything would be fine until Liadrin told about Izzy’s disappearance.

Unacceptable.

Worse? It took another fortnight to bother and badger the higher ups to get their asses moving and assemble a force to sack the keep. Adventurers already brought the key so what the fuck were they waiting for? Finally, if only to get her off their backs, Lord Theron and Prophet Velen gave the official word to mobilize. Theron should have been there to lead the attack but Lady Liadrin stepped into the role beautifully. Aided by High Priestess Ishanah of the Aldor, they took adventurers and soldiers of both the Alliance and Horde and transformed them into a well polished fighting force. Desi looked around.

It wasn’t enough.

“We still don’t have enough numbers to match Kael’s forces,” Desi pointed out.

“We will make do with what we have.” Lady Liadrin moved a few pieces on the map table and frowned. “The first strike force managed to breach the Mechanar and opened up the way for us to the Botanica and Arcatraz.”

“And half of your troops almost crossed the Veil until my squads stepped in.”

Desi glanced up. A tall, muscled rogue in mail and leather armor, his blonde hair braided out of his face, stood between an orc and a tauren. Liadrin scowled and straightened, one hand drifting to her weapon.

“This isn’t your business, vonTwilight.”

“On the contrary, you’ll find it is. I propose a deal.” He sauntered over to the table and withdrew his own figures from a pouch on his belt and set them down. “I will supply three squads of ten men for each of the main strike teams as well as a half company of troops to handle clean up and rounding up the stragglers.”

“And in exchange?”

He smirked. “You and your people step back and let me handle the Eye.”

“Out of the question,” Liadrin snapped. “Kael’thas Sunstrider will answer to sin’dorei law for betraying his people.”

“And our law would see him dead either way. What does it matter if it’s one of your people or mine who does the deed?”

“Because I have an official order from the Regent Lord dispensing the duty to me and my people.”

“This is a battlefield, matriarch. Fancy papers don’t matter here. I  _ will _ get into the Eye. It’s just a matter of if we work together or against each other and I don’t think your forces can fight a battle on two fronts. Do you?”

Desi whistled under her breath. Whoever this vonTwilight was, he had balls to talk to Lady Liadrin like that. Still, they were getting nowhere by posturing and Desi wanted to charge the keep as badly as they did. Taking a chance, she stepped in between the two and jammed a finger at a specific part of the map.

“I have a counter suggestion. I take one squad from each of you, one from Priestess Ishanah, and enter the keep here. There’s a rather nasty surprise waiting near the entrance to the Eye. I know how to get around it,” she said.

Kael’thas kept his pet phoenix Al’ar near the entrance to the Eye. With the bird and all of his spawn in nests high in the rafters, and taking into account that people didn’t often look up, Kael’s beast got the jump on many an adventuring party. The reaver that wandered around would pose a challenge but it wouldn’t be nearly as chaotic as facing Al’ar right away. Once they took down the reaver, they could establish a foothold and a safe space to retreat to. VonTwilight eyed her with furrowed brows.

“Paladin Sunseeker. Recovered and well. That’s something at least.” He turned back to the map and before she could ask him about what he meant, added a token to where she pointed. “I agree. A joint venture.”

Liadrin drummed her fingers on the edge of the map before she added another figure. “Agreed.”

“Good. We’ll meet here.” Desi pointed to a spot slightly south of the keep. “Will there be enough flying mounts for everyone?”

“All of my people will have them,” VonTwilight said.

“As will ours. I’ll speak to High Priestess Ishanah about contributing her own squadron. We’ll rendezvous in half an hour.”

VonTwilight nodded and left as quickly as he appeared. More scouts and runners came and went as Desi shifted on her feet and waited. She was so sick of waiting. Not knowing what Callidora had done to Izzy plagued her thoughts and darkened her dreams. Everything from physical torture to enslavement went through her head and Desi paced back and forth in a tight line. They may have had their differences but Izzy opened the door to a new way of thinking for her. In her travels through Azeroth and Outlands, she started to absorb the thought that perhaps the Light wasn’t as just as she was taught. And maybe it was wrong in turning its face from the Forsaken. Sometimes she got headaches thinking about it, which M’uru didn’t help, but she learned. All thanks to Izzy. She couldn’t fail her. Desi headed for the rendezvous point and turned her gaze back to the Eye.

“Please be okay.”

“Praying never did anyone much good but I suppose paladins are a bit slow on the uptake.” VonTwilight’s smooth, cultured voice interrupted her prayers and she scowled. “I jest, Sunseeker.”

“You’ll return her in one piece, vonTwilight, or you and I will meet in the dueling ring.” Liadrin rode up with her troops as well as a squad from the Aldor.

“Why Liadrin, I had no idea you felt that way about her. Rest assured I will return her with everything still intact and accounted for.” A broad grin lit up his handsome features and Desi blushed.

Lady Liadrin’s cheeks also flared red. “Nothing of the sort. Paladin Sunseeker is one of my finest knights is all.”

After a bit of charged, embarrassed silence, vonTwilight chuckled and whistled up his group. Liadrin wished her well before riding back to the main command area but Desi’s brows rose when Von didn’t join her. He organized his troops with ruthless efficiency and the air of a man used to being obeyed. Once everyone was in order and on their mounts, Desi lowered her helmet visor and raised her sword.

“Company, move out!”

They flew for the keep. Desi’s heart pounded but she slowly calmed it down and settled into the headspace she needed in battle. Her nerves drained away. Her tense shoulders relaxed. They would succeed. There was no other option. They landed, dismissed their mounts, and stormed the halls. Desi guided them on the roundabout way past Al’ar and they ran into the reaver. It put up a decent fight but with thirty of them, they got it down fast. As some scavenged it for parts, Desi turned to Von and the orc who led his forces. He cocked a slender brow at her in expectation.

“Bird’s called Al’ar, Kael’s pet. Watch out for his quills and keep an eye out for his spawn. They can overwhelm a company if they’re not controlled. He’s a phoenix so we’re going to have to kill him more than once. Stay mobile, stay sharp, and keep your eyes on the sky. Al’ar likes to dive.”

He nodded. “Falcon, relay that to Liadrin’s people. She’ll have told them not to trust anything I say.”

The orc warrior snorted and saluted her boss before they split. Taking a few minutes to drink and regroup, Desi led them back towards Al’ar’s nest. They took their positions and waited for Desi. She shifted her weight, scanned the ceiling for the phoenix, and threw her shield when he got close. He screeched and banked hard. She ran into the open and laid down a consecration spell.

“Mages, warlocks, to the back. Hunters, lay your traps. Melee in range but don’t you dare get its attention or I’ll tell the healers to let you drop.” Falcon slammed her axe on her shield and charged in. “Loktar ogar!”

The orcs in the party took up the war cry and attacked. Desi and Falcon traded positions as lead, switching out to get healed and bark out orders before jumping back in. Al’ar put up a hell of a fight and they almost lost two mages in the process but they got him down. Desi shouted to bandage and down potions while the ashes gathered until they reformed into an even angrier phoenix. Once they killed him a second time, a shaman worked a spell to scatter the remains. No more reformation. Desi pulled off her helmet with a gasp and scraped strands of loose, sweat-soaked hair behind her ears.

“You know this place.” Falcon passed her a waterskin, green skin dark with sweat and streaked with blood.

Desi nodded and took a sip. “Trapped here for too damn long.” She sipped again and sighed. “Where’s your boss?”

“Here.” He appeared, no worse for where except for a light sheen on his brow and a few messy braids. “Good work. What next?”

“Patrols,” Desi panted and mopped her brow with a handkerchief. “He’s got packs of them wandering around here. Most have mages, a few have healers. There’s also scouts slinking around. Mostly rogues.”

Von nodded. “I found two of them and made certain they couldn’t interfere with our progress.”  
“Cheers to that.” Desi raised the skin one last time and took a longer sip. “Alright, so next…”

Desi rattled off everything she knew about the Eye, the places to find treasure, where they held prisoners, and what she remembered of the patrol routes. She also warned them away from the barracks, eating area, and infirmary. The first was spelled to the Nether and back. The latter two were Callidora’s domain and Desi didn’t want to deal with her until they took down the other threats. Von nodded and between him and Falcon, they divided the squads and sent them off to whittle down Kael’s forces.

They regrouped at the entrance to High Astronomer Solarian’s domain and Desi walked them through her spells and estimated how many priests and mages she might have with her. Halfway through, Falcon touched her earring and frowned. The simple silver skull had the tiniest communication gems Desi ever saw in the eye sockets. She muttered under her breath and stiffened.

“Something’s wrong. Talon’s squad and Boss aren’t back yet. They were headed towards the west wing.”

Desi swore. “That’s got the infirmary.” She jammed her helmet back on. “They might have run into Callidora. Take your forces in and cut Solarian down. I’ll find the others and we’ll regroup outside the throne room.”

Falcon nodded. “Good hunting.”

“You too.”

She started a brisk jog towards the west wing. Thankfully the other squads did a thorough job of clearing out the wandering patrols because Desi saw no one on her way over. The first sign of trouble came in the form of broken pottery and shredded tapestries. Black marks scorched the walls and the tang of felfire lingered in the air. A body in scarlet and gold armor sprawled over a bloodstained rug. Desi gagged but pushed down the urge to vomit. The skin was charred black and veins of poison green spider webbed every inch of the body. That wasn’t Callidora’s work.

That was something else.

Alert and on edge, Desi picked her way through more signs of carnage. Full bodies and partially exploded or melted ones appeared in greater numbers the further she went. Careful not to clank and alert whoever or whatever caused it, Desi kept her ears pricked for the slightest noise and her breathing slow.

A scream. Male. Familiar.

Her ears twitched. Down the hall? No, the other direction. She went left and followed the cries of pain and panic until they stopped. The sudden silence pressed in on all sides and her pulse picked up. Desi ran, stealth tossed aside in favor of speed. She jumped over and danced around debris and climbed through a wall leading into the eating area. Her breath caught. Her arm dropped but she clutched her sword like a security blanket.

Antares. Ellyrianna. Miralenn. Even Kenneric and Syllestus. The pride of Callidora’s personal guard.

Dead.

The floor lay covered in viscera, thick and black. The stench made her stomach roll and she clapped a hand over her mouth. She looked away and trembled. Most of them weren’t even in one piece. What the fuck did that?

One of them groaned and it wasn’t Desi.

She followed the weak whimpers and stopped short. What had once been handsome features melted together in droopy gobs like candle wax but she still recognized Antares. His left leg and knee were crushed into pulp and most of his skin had been burned off. She looked around and heaved. What might have been his right arm lay nearby. As disgusting as it was, Desi turned back to Antares and looked him over.

“I don’t think you’ve ever looked better, you fucking pig.”

“P-please…h-h-hel-lp m-m-me,” he rasped, his one remaining eye bright with tears, pupil tiny with terror.

“Where’s your mistress?”

He stumbled and stammered over pleas for help and she wavered. While there was no chance of her saving his life, he was too far gone for that, she could give him a painless death. He was suffering, near dead and alone, all because he chose to back the wrong woman. Liadrin’s face appeared in her thoughts, lips pursed.

She sighed and turned her sword. “You don’t deserve this.” She jammed her blade through his neck. “But the Light is merciful.”

Never again would Antares’ acid tongue and smarmy voice tear a woman down and that should have made her happy. Instead, she slumped over like she carried sandbags on her back. She did her duty and said a prayer over the bodies but walked away. A blood trail twined from the room and she followed it until she reached a dead end. She grumbled in frustration and looked around. The infirmary wasn’t far so she headed in that direction. Find Talon. Find vonTwilight. Regroup in the throne room.

Find Izzy.

Kill Kael’thas.

Go back home to Azeroth.

She pushed open the door and froze. Standing above an unconscious orc, hair a snarled mess, and veins glowing fel green, was Izzy. Blood and gore splattered her from head to foot with most on her face and hands. A mace crusted with innards and other bits lay propped against the pristine bed as an afterthought. Izzy finished tying off a bandage and stepped away from the bed.

“Izzy?”

“Tell Falcon that her lover and soldiers are safe and get the fuck out.” Izzy picked up her mace and turned to the door.

A wounded sound escaped her. “Oh Izzy.”

Flat green eyes were rimmed with dancing flames. Tiny infernos in a blank expanse of face. There was no hint of a smile, no warm glow, no tilt of the head that was all Izzy. Desi didn’t know who the cold, still person who stood before her and she wanted to sob. Too late. They were too late.

“What did they do to you?”

“Nothing they’ll live to regret.” With that ominous promise, Izzy stalked towards the door. Desi stepped back. Izzy chuckled, a rusty sound that scraped over her ears. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you interfere.”

“With what?”

“Murder.” Izzy crossed in front of her. “My mother may be clever but she’s predictable. Minn’da will run right to her precious prince and then I’ll have them both.”

“Izzy, Izzy wait.” Desi moved in front of her, hands held out to stop her. “Please. Just - ”

A hand slammed her by the throat against the wall. Desi choked. Terror clawed through her. She hadn’t even seen Izzy move. The green in her eyes split and cracked across her skin as her jaw tightened and tears welled up in Desi’s eyes. Whatever they did broke something in the formidable priestess and she prayed they’d find something left of the Izzy they knew. The felfire burned brighter as Izzy hissed a warning.

“Don’t tell me what I ‘just.’ Either you get out of my way or I snap your neck but make no mistake. You aren’t safe because of who you are. Understand?” She squeezed hard to emphasize her point.

Desi gagged and clawed at the stone-like hand with trembling fingers. Izzy loosened her grip enough to let her breathe and Desi gasped for sweet air. The tears slipped down her face and she bowed her head.

“Just let me come with you. I - I couldn’t help you before but I can now. Let me help you. Please.”

Surprise flashed over Izzy’s face and for a moment, it was like everything was back to normal. But then her face smoothed over again and her expression closed off. Disappointment tugged at Desi’s heart even when Izzy released her. She slumped against the wall, massaging her throat and panting for air, and wiped her tears away. While she got her bearings, Izzy turned and walked away. Desi chased after her and kept pace in silence. Izzy focused straight ahead and her step was sure. Desi bowed her head.

“You’re not going to stop me?” The sudden question made Desi jump. “Or prattle on about how this isn’t me like he did?” Desi shook her head. Silence met her and she let it go until a softly whispered, “Why?”

Desi massaged her hand and finger where the cursed ring had once been. “Cause I get it. She hurt you.” Her jaw hardened and so did her voice. “That bitch deserves everything that’s coming to her.”

Callidora went too far. She cursed their people, she hurt Izzy, her own daughter, and twisted her into something else. After Izzy finished extracting her pound of flesh though, Desi planned to be there to pull her back from the brink. Izzy saved her from her suffering. She wouldn’t do any less.

* * *

Hate. Hate. Anger. Hate. Kill. Kill, kill, blood, firedeathyes _ yes! _

The cadence pulsed in time with her heartbeat and Izzy fought it with every fiber of her being. She didn’t delight in the slaughter that followed her initial attack on her mother. But the moment her lips touched that demon blood, a red haze descended over her. It clouded her thoughts and smothered her will to a whispering voice that mocked and taunted her. It didn’t take Izzy long to figure out it was the essence of the demon whose blood her mother took. By the time she fought it back, she stood over the remains of her mother’s private guard, bathed in the result of her berserker rage.

It horrified her. It thrilled her. The demon laughed.

The chance to pay back even a fraction of her pain and misery spurred on her slaughter even as her inner voice shrieked at her to stop. With knife and mace, she decimated anyone that stood in her way in a bloodbath the likes of which she’d never seen before. She ignored any injury, pushed aside pain and disgust, all in favor of sating the demon in her mind and the bloodthirsty creature that took over her heart.

Then Talon appeared.

A part of her recognized the orc. A larger part knew the blonde-haired man with her. But they tried to stop her. The man carried knives that gleamed with poison. Her anger mixed with confusion. She thirsted to add their skulls to her collection. No, no she didn’t. Not them. The dichotomy made her blows weaker and less confident. The blonde man escaped but most of Talon’s squad was injured. She managed to get them to the infirmary, her need to heal overpowering even the demon’s mutterings. Someone else would heal them though. Not her. Never her, never again.

She’d been on the verge of another killing spree when Desi stumbled into the room. The reason she suffered. The demon purred. Kill her. Kill her for being weak. But another voice that sounded more like her screamed that it was wrong. So she let her go. Then the paladin had to stumble after her and offer to  _ help _ . Izzy strained to keep control of her body. She didn’t want to hurt Desi.

Kael’thas. Callidora.

They deserved to taste death for what they did. Not Desi.

Izzy wrestled a bit more control back but her mental strength flagged under the force of the demon’s blood.

They reached the entrance to the throne room and a group of people congregated in front of it. She bashed and shoved them out of the way until they parted for her without prompting. A brief touch and a shock of magic and she hissed. Fucking coward had a barrier over the door. Red bled through her vision and she swung her mace. The door may have been warded but nothing protected the wall next to it. Screaming threats and battle cries, Izzy smashed her way through. Hardly winded thanks to the blood that empowered her, tainted her, she kicked aside the debris and walked in on a pitiful scene. Callidora’s elegant robes were tattered from their fight, her skin bright pink from recent healing, and she tugged on Kael’s arm, begging to flee for their lives. Izzy snorted.

“So much for the great Callidora Ambershield. Tell me  _ minn’da _ ,” she mocked as she sauntered in. “How is cowering at the feet of that pompous ass, cursing your people, and violating your daughter worthy of the Ambershield name?”

Kael’thas stepped back. “You fool,” he hissed and shook Callidora loose. “What did you do?”

“It was only a few drops of demon blood. It should have made her desperate for more, not turned her into  _ that _ !”

“Idiot woman! Have you forgotten the orcs? The Illidari? How could you not have planned for this?”

Izzy didn’t idle. She charged the dais and smashed Kael’thas aside. She’d deal with him later. All her focus lay on Callidora. The once proud woman staggered away, one hand on the shoulder Izzy managed to stab in their brief scuffle, the other useless at her side. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted around for a way out. A long slash marked her from cheek to neck, not dissimilar to the lines of fel magic that cracked through Izzy’s skin all over her face. She swung. Callidora yelped and ducked. Rather than get angry, cold detachment settled over her and she continued her slow, relentless pursuit of her mother across the polished marble floors. Behind her, the group dealt with Kael’thas.

Fine. So long as she dealt the finishing blow to her mother.

“Isoldera, sweet girl, you don’t want to murder your only family. The guilt - ”

“You are  _ not _ my family. The woman who called herself my mother is dead.” Izzy grinned and giggled, high and unsettling to her own ears. “I killed her.”

“Izzy stop!” Kav.

“Stay back and let her have this.” Desi.

“Please don’t.” Minn’da.

With a roar, Izzy smashed in her mother’s skull. Callidora’s lying tongue would never twist another word. The body crumpled. The battle against Kael’thas continued but her eyes never left her mother’s corpse. Over. All over. Never again would she stand in Callidora Ambershield’s shadow. She could finally move into the light...if only the Light hadn’t abandoned her.

Much like her so-called loved ones.

Izzy’s hand tightened on the mace’s handle. That wasn’t fair. Or was it? They had two weeks, two  _ weeks _ , to come for her but no one had. Before that, Liadrin and Voren’thal had months to put together a fighting force before Kael and Callidora grew too strong. The red mist descended again and Izzy turned towards the dais. She stepped over the body without a care and slapped her mace against her palm.

“Little prince, little prince,” she sing-songed before her tone dropped to pure menace. “You never should have let me in.”

She sprinted for him with a wailing shriek. Halfway there, something big, brown, and bushy slammed into her. She skidded and rolled across the floor, disoriented but quick to get back on her feet. Her elbow and hip throbbed from the impact but she ignored it to focus on the bear. It growled at her and raked its nails over the marble but didn’t charge her again. Smart of him but not smart enough.

“Get out of my way, Kithy-bear.”

Kith shook his furry head. She moved left. He followed. She changed directions and feinted but he knocked her back. The demon’s whispers grew stronger alongside her building frustration. Kill them. Kill them all, they who left her to rot after everything she gave. All of her care, her magic, her faith, she gave until she was nearly empty and yet none of them made the same sacrifices. People who claimed to love and care for her left her trapped and alone as she was violated, body and soul. True. All of it true. Her hands balled into trembling fists as her vision turned bloody.

“I warned you.”

The minutes passed in a blur. Huge bear paws and more arms, more voices, as they tried to pull her away. She fought anyone who got in her way but they just kept coming. Circled her. Trapped her. Panic worked its way through her gut and seized her heart. She had to escape. She couldn’t let them cage her too. Izzy freed herself and stumbled away only to come face to face with her cousin. Her lip curled in a sneer.

“The all-powerful, all-knowing Aakav vonTwilight. Feared and respected for his business deals and shadow network.” Izzy swung her mace and connected with his knives. “But begs on his knees for troll dick.”

“You’re not yourself. Don’t make me hurt you,” he argued.

“Fuck. You.” She kicked his knee but he danced away. “You left me. With  _ her. _ ”

“I didn’t know. Despite what you think Zeezee, I don’t know everything.”

“Bullshit!” She lunged for him again.

He twined and twisted away from every move she tried, the slippery fucker. All the while, Kith prowled the perimeter and kept their fight contained. More people surrounded them. Izzy moved to take her fury out on the bystanders, but Kith remained an immovable, furry mountain and blocked her every attempt to escape. She railed against him, Kav, the human cage that bound her from unleashing her pain, until something in her broke and the fel energy started to drain out of her. Izzy screamed at the snickering demon to get out of her head. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it all to stop.

“You’re right. We tried, I swear we did.” Kav’s voice shook for the briefest moment. “We just weren’t fast enough.”

“You should have been! I would have, I would have done anything - you  _ left _ me here. You all left me.” She pointed at Desi, Kith, Falcon, all of them. “I hoped. Everyday I hoped that I’d either escape or someone would come for me. I tried - I tried to save myself. I - I thought you loved me. I thought…I, I thought…”

When she couldn’t escape her own mess, Izzy kept faith that her friends would come for her. She wished for the help they always said she should take. They told her not to try and do everything herself but the moment she needed them the most, no one came. Kav had agents on her all the time but he hadn’t known? She didn’t believe that. Desi woke up the day she signed her freedom away but it took her all that time to come back? Impossible. Worse, she lost her faith and her magic. She lost everything except her life and what was that even worth since she couldn’t heal anymore? 

Would anyone still love her?

Tears streamed down her face and neck and she slammed her fists into the floor. “Why? Why weren’t you there when I needed you? You always told me I didn’t have to be everything to everyone. I started to believe it…”

That brief, shining moment when she felt confident in herself and reassured of their love and support faded more and more as each day passed and nothing. No word. No whisper of scouts or early strike teams testing the keep’s defenses. Callidora delighted in taunting her about how they all loved to use her for her kindness and magic but turned on her the minute they had what they wanted. 

And she may have been right.

Izzy struggled to lift her head as the effects of the demon blood drained away but she managed to stare them down.. “I hate you. I hate you all.”

Kav recoiled. A part of Izzy rejoiced at the stunned, hurt faces around her. The way they all twisted in sorrow and dismay delighted her. Let them hurt. Let them  _ all _ hurt. It was no less than they deserved. She hugged herself and shivered. Coldness creeped through her as well as a ravenous hunger for blood, for fel magic. Anything to make the pain stop. Kav turned away and straightened his spine. Beefy arms wrapped around her but she didn’t have the strength to struggle as Kith picked her up. Her vision greyed at the edges as her adrenaline crashed. Kav approached, a knife in his hands.

“I love you, Zeezee.” She scoffed at his declaration but he took her hand and squeezed it. “I hope someday you can forgive me.”

Her jaw tightened. “Forgiveness died along with the part of me that gave a fuck about you.”

“I don’t believe that.” He pressed the tip of his knife to her finger and drew blood. “I will save you. I swear it.”

Any retort she tried to muster died as the venom took hold and she closed her eyes. Part of her wished to never wake up. Better to live in dreams than the reality that waited for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't that hard to write, surprisingly.
> 
> As someone who's been in the medical field since 2010 in some capacity or another, I've seen how easy it is for caregivers to burn out and for all of their care to turn into anger, bitterness, and even indifference towards the people they were supposed to take care of. 
> 
> In the comics, Valeera went through similar violent tendencies and then a detox after consuming fel magic while saving Broll and Varian, which is what inspired Izzy's berserker reaction. Since she's never actively fed on fel magic before, it hit her a lot harder than anyone (even Callidora) anticipated.
> 
> However, things will go up from here. Izzy's back with her family and can begin the long healing process. Just two more chapters to go. Have a safe holiday season all and I'll see you next week as we prepare to ring in the new year!


	18. Piece by Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’thalas**

Kav scowled at Alesta as she sat and sipped her cup of tea with a serene smile on her face. He’d ordered the mind healer to report directly to him after any session with Izzy but getting information was like pulling teeth. While he gave Alesta more leeway than most due to her position, the Establishment was  _ his _ kingdom and she served him. He drummed his fingers on the desk and grit his teeth when she set her cup in its saucer and her smile became a snicker. He slapped his palm on the desk.

“I am unaccustomed to repeating myself.”

“I find people often have to do many things they aren’t accustomed to.” She gave him a significant look. “Such as letting go of their tightly-held control.”

“You’ve met with her daily for the past two weeks. There should be some progress to report.”

“Correct, there is progress but Izzy is my patient and I will keep her confidence.” She swirled her tea in her cup and frowned at him. “Trauma doesn’t go away with a few sessions, Boss. Not the kind Izzy went through. She needs time.”

“She’s had time.”

“Healing involves routine and familiar, safe spaces. This place is quickly moving away from what Izzy feels is safe.”

He glowered at her, the unspoken message loud and clear. In the two weeks since the disaster of Tempest Keep, Quel’thalas erupted into full out war. Kael’thas stormed Silvermon and took M’uru, rendering many of the blood knights without their powers. Demons cropped up in civilian areas and it was more than the flagging Farstriders could handle to keep the people safe. Officially, Theron had ordered him to supply his people and Kav had done so. Ironically, Murder Row became the safest place in Silvermoon. Unofficially, Kav told the stuffed-shirt former Ranger Lord to suck his cock.

The shade of purple that man could turn made it all worth it.

If the spineless ass had declared Kael a traitor and mobilized months ago, Izzy would have been spared the pain of capture. Needless to say, it hadn’t made Kav any more amenable to aiding him. He wrung several large favors and payments out of Theron by being outwardly reluctant to aid him but Kav would have kept Murder Row cleared anyway. It was just good for business.

“Boss.” Alesta’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. “You’ve made her a prisoner. Again.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the city is currently in chaos and infested with demons. Keeping her here keeps her safe so she can recover in peace,” he snapped then breathed and composed himself. “She’s my family. I will not fail her again.”

“She’s a grown woman who needs to heal on her own time and your guilt is only hurting her.” Her gaze was sympathetic but her voice was firm and unmoving. “Izzy doesn’t want to see the person who essentially took her from one cage only to put her in another.”

“It’s for her own damn good. She needs - ”

“Her freedom. Love and support and for people to show her that they still care about her even though she isn’t a healer anymore.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Boss, she believes that no one came for her because she was only useful to them as a healer. That without her powers, no one will love her.”

It was like a knife in the kidney. Sharp, sudden, and shameful. Kav swivelled his chair away so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face. Even as he cried out that Izzy couldn’t believe that, the more pragmatic businessman in him agreed. As a healer, she had value. People needed her. If he was absolutely ruthless, which he was, he saw that without her powers she had little worth. That streak is what led to Kav’s guilt consuming him. She had every right to hate him because he was one of those people who would throw anyone away once they were useless to him. She didn’t see it.

Izzy would never be useless to him.

Yet even he couldn’t deny that he placed value on her skills as a healer. When he didn’t need her services, he relied on his agents assigned to her to bring him news. He’d been so distracted by his own cleverness in assisting the High King from the shadows while getting Izzy’s betrayer under his nose, and increasing his profit margins even on the edge of war, he forgot about her. When his agents came with their bi-weekly reports along with the letters she sent out, he skimmed them before tossing them aside. With no reports of unusual activity, he believed all was well.

He should have looked harder. He should have checked in. She had every right to hate him. Fel, part of him even expected it.

As a man who clawed, killed, and extorted his way to the top, he made enemies. Ones who hated and envied him. Some wanted to steal his empire. All wanted to kill him. He cared little for the opinions of fleas trying to drain the rich blood of his business. But the confrontation with Izzy rattled him to the core.

He hadn’t wanted to love her or Tansil. The moment he declared himself independent and cast aside the Ambershield name, he vowed he would never have family again. Then two clever children found out about their connection and wormed their way into his heart. One with his earnest gentleness and the other with her fierce love. When Tansil died, he and Izzy grieved as part of their little family was broken forever. He couldn’t lose her too yet he came so close through his own hubris.

Arthas. Callidora. Sylvanas. They all tried to take her from him and nobody,  _ nobody _ , took what was his.

“Your feelings are your own and I won’t shame you for them.” Alesta’s voice startled him and he had a knife on her before her hand could touch his shoulder. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “You almost lost someone very dear to you so of course you’re shaken, angry, and terrified but you’re letting your emotions control your actions. Actions that are hurting the same person you want to protect.”

He squeezed the arm of his chair in one hand while the knife remained perfectly balanced in the other. Her presence retreated across the room until she opened the door with only the softest click of the knob to give her away.

“What if she doesn’t come back?” He despised the weak, pathetic words the minute they left him, but he had to know.

“That’s her decision to make. You can either accept that and work towards rebuilding your relationship or reject it and drive her away. The choice is yours.”

Alesta swept from the room and closed the door with a sharp snap. Kav raked his fingers over his scalp and cursed mind healers to the depths of the Nether. If he wanted to salvage any chance of forgiveness, he would have to let Izzy go and trust that she’d come back. The question was, could he be that selfless? He swore and threw his knife against the wall. He needed a drink. And a fuck. Zar made it clear he wasn’t to be disturbed until nightfall so Kav would have to find what he wanted elsewhere.

Thankfully, he knew just the person to take the edge off.

Before he summoned them, he tapped his communication crystal and passed the message along to his people. If Izzy attempted to leave the Establishment, they weren’t to stop her. The order cut him to the bone but he gave it. He refused to be the one who crushed the last of her spirit.

“Sometimes I fucking hate having a conscience,” he growled and poured himself that drink.

* * *

Alesta muttered about men and rogues and Kav in particular as she made her way back to her rooms until she bumped into a tall, muscled blonde wearing plate armor. Her cheeks flushed as the paladin steadied her on her feet.

“Apologies, I didn’t see you.”

“No please, I was hoping to bump into someone. My name’s Desi, I’m a friend of Izzy’s and I wanted to see her but I am so fucking lost. How does anyone find their way around in this ant nest?”

She giggled. “I’ve heard it called a rabbit warren but that’s the first time anyone’s compared us to ants.”

Desi flushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh, just means you’re strong and work hard? I guess?”

“And serve a spoiled queen.” Alesta snorted in a most undignified manner and covered her mouth but Desi just grinned. She cleared her throat and linked their arms together. “I’m Ali. I’ll take you to Izzy’s rooms but I need a favor.”

“Am I going to end up naked or something?”

She gave her a sultry look through half-lidded eyes. “Only if you want to, sweetheart. But I promise to be gentle.”

“Oh, uh, well I, uhm - okay.”

“Tall, strong, gorgeous, and dumb. My favorite.”

“In my defense, it’s not everyday a beautiful woman offers to get me naked and treat me gently.” They shared a chuckle as they navigated the halls. “So you, uh, you work here?”

“Yes but not with customers. I’m a mind healer.”

Desi’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh. How - how is she? I haven’t seen her since vonTwilight brought her here.”

Ali sighed and shook her head. “I can’t tell you everything but I will tell you what I just told my boss.”

As she shared what she could with the paladin, she hoped her visit would help Izzy somehow. Izzy spoke of Desi often in their sessions, both before Outlands and since her return, and maybe the presence of a true friend would do what she and Kav couldn’t: show her that she didn’t need to be a healer to be worthy of love.

* * *

Izzy wandered the halls with no purpose other than to move. She spent the majority of her time in the Establishment in bed, paralyzed by depression and grief. Ali came and talked with her everyday, sometimes twice, but it did little to help. She had no appetite and barely slept. Hazy, blood red memories painted with the screams of the dying and the acrid stench of gore found her in her sleep and lingered after waking. She didn’t recognize herself in those memories. That monster wasn’t her. She didn’t delight in slaughter. She didn’t roar with victory or savor the sound of her victims falling before her.

All her life she worked to save others. To preserve families and loved ones so they wouldn’t be shattered by the loss of life. Knowing she slaughtered so many of her own people in cold blood sickened her to the point where if she ate anything, she threw it back up. So she stopped eating and relied on potions for nutrients.

What did she do? How did she get back the person she thought she was before the demon blood? Because it unlocked something inside her, a source of pain and hate she hadn’t even known she carried. Sleep offered no refuge. Ali tried her best but she didn’t understand how thoroughly her experience divorced her from who she thought she was. Pouring her feelings into letters to Sylvanas and Lo’Gosh helped but she would never send them. It would just make her look weak and place a burden on their shoulders. She couldn’t rely on anyone. Tempest Keep proved that.

No matter what anyone said, in the end she would always be alone.

“Don’t be so sure Zeezee.”

She blinked. Zar loomed above her, dressed in a loincloth and carrying a satchel. Didn’t the guy own any proper mage robes? And had she said that last thought out loud? Not that it mattered anyway. He was probably there because he wanted something from her. She stared at Zar until he placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her towards his greenhouse. If she ever needed proof her cousin was smitten, it was in the obscene and expensive security nightmare that was the mage’s personal oasis. He led her past neat beds of herbs to the wilder foliage in the back native to his beloved Zuldazar. A small shrine set with conch shells, dried meat, candles, and bones sat nestled among large-leafed fronds. Zar sat down and gestured for her to do the same so she did.

“I don’t know if I ever told you about the loa I worship.” She shook her head and he lifted a leather thong with a large, gleaming tooth wrapped in wire hanging from it. “One day, I be clam diving as a trolling off the shores of Zuldazar. I go too deep and I bash my fool head against some rocks.”

He told her the story about how he would have been devoured by murlocs stirred up by his clam diving but a shark swimming by decided they looked more appetizing than some scrawny trolling. It managed to coax a smile from her as he spoke of Gral, loa of the sea, but also of hidden knowledge.

“Gral don’t be giving up his secrets for just anyone now. But I be making sacrifices and delivering secrets to him for years. So when he be whispering to me, I listen.” He put on the necklace and took up the largest conch shell.

“Let me guess, he spoke to you about me and he wants something.” She sighed in frustration.

“Best be minding that tongue of yours. Gral is wise but he is fierce and won’t hesitate to make a meal of the unworthy.”

Izzy closed her mouth. No matter her thoughts, offending a higher power that could mess with her life wouldn’t be smart. She watched in fascination as Zar prepared a ritual, chanting under his breath as he burned incense and drew glowing symbols around the edges of a bowl of water. He blew the conch and ripples of power undulated from the bowl. Izzy shivered as cold waves passed over her, carrying the salty tang of the sea. The incense smoke roared up like flames and flashed deep blue.

The water shimmered. Images flashed before her eyes.

In the depths of the sea where not even the sun reached, she caught a glimpse of gleaming white teeth and a powerful, thrashing tail. The vision shifted. A single shaft of sunlight stretched across the depths of the sea to Orgrimmar. Shelves of books that stretched high in a circular tower. A small temple, overgrown and crumbling, sat on the edge of a gold and scarlet forest. Finally, she saw herself: bathed in golden flames, the overgrown temple restored, and a statue of a woman dressed in robes and armor behind her.

A whoosh and her vision filled with white bubbles. The smoke cleared and she blinked. All signs of the loa’s presence vanished. Zar murmured thanks as he carefully closed the ritual and Izzy pondered what it meant.

“I guess the loa like to speak in riddles,” she mused.

“Yah but the start is simple enough. Cross the sea to desert sands.”

“Orgrimmar,” she agreed with a nod. “But why there?”

Zar shrugged. “Gral be the lao of many secrets but that don’t mean he shares them. Seems to me he be giving you the means to unravel some of the questions that torment you. Just gotta find the right person to ask them to.”

She sighed. “I appreciate his advice but I don’t think Kalimdor has - ”

_ “Idiot girl...wench…your patient is stable…eat my manky old foot…” _

Archie. Archie was a priest even though the Light had forsaken him. He must have gone through something to get his powers back. Maybe he had the answer. Hope, what embers remained, sparked to life. If she could regain even a fraction of her abilities, she could be of use again. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be alone if she had her powers back. She hugged Zar in thanks and rushed off. She had to leave. Sneak out. Kav kept her well guarded and while she initially appreciated the sense of safety, now she wanted them gone. They’d only get in the way of her escape. She raced into her room with plans and half-baked schemes whirling through her head.

“Izzy?”

She shrieked, jumped, and drew her knife, heart thundering in her ears. Her eyes landed on the blonde sitting on her bed and she paused. “Desi?” At the nod, she slumped with relief. “What the fel? How did you get in here?”

“First I paid a very large man at the door a lot of gold and asked for Falcon. She got me part way here but was called away by business so I wandered around a bit until a very pretty but scary mind healer named Ali led me the rest of the way.”

Izzy chuckled. “Alright then. As long as you’re here can you make yourself useful and give me a hand?”

“Sure. With what?”

“Escaping.” She turned back to her closet and grabbed her repaired traveling packs.

“Absolutely. Where are we going?” A pause. “Did you need help delivering those? I don’t mind. Anything you need.”

Izzy stopped in her frantic packing to consider the letters, her plans, and Desi’s offer. It sounded genuine but did she trust her private, personal thoughts with the paladin? Her actions in Tempest Keep were evidence that Desi wanted to help her but Izzy couldn’t be sure if she hadn’t done and said what she did to save her own skin. But Desi came back for her. She did her best to recover in the two weeks between her awakening and the attack after spending months under the curse. Izzy’s rational mind shrieked not to trust anyone, that she would always be alone, but her heart fought that idea with fearsome strength. She never wanted to feel alone and abandoned again and if she cut off the people who always loved her, that’s all she would ever have. Her warring emotions must have shown on her face because Desi rose and crossed the room, face pinched with worry.

“I’m fine,” Izzy insisted before Desi said anything. “I appreciate the offer of help but I’m not sending those. They’re not ready.”

“Then what can I do? Lady Liadrin doesn’t need me in Quel’danas right now. I can travel with you. I know you’ve got your mace and can fight for yourself, but having backup never hurts, right?”

The earnestness of her offer twisted Izzy’s heart but she shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m just going to Orgrimmar. Nothing really dangerous on a zeppelin as long as I don’t accept any dueling challenges.”

A few beats of silence passed before Desi spoke. “You’re doing it again. Pushing away everyone and trying to do everything yourself.” Her voice, and shoulders, dropped. “I don’t blame you. I let you down. You probably would have saved yourself even if we hadn’t showed up. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her hands stilled in the act of buckling her pack closed. Questions, accusations, platitudes, and righteous anger rattled around in her head until her ears rang. Her heart warred with logic as memories clashed with excuses. She fisted her hands around the straps until her knuckles popped. One question stood above all the others. The one question she wanted to ask but never got the chance after Kav sequestered her away.

“Why did it take you so long to come back? You knew where I was. Who I was with.” She turned, bag clutched to her front. “Where  _ were _ you?”

“Part of it was my recovery. It took almost a week before I got my strength back, even with healing magic.”

Izzy nodded. She thought as much. The curse that ravaged Desi’s body wasn’t thrown off easily. While the paladin’s constitution proved stronger than anticipated, she was still human. But that was as far as Izzy’s empathy went. Her lips pressed together and she clenched her jaw. Desi rubbed the back of her neck, face red.

“The rest was because of fucking bureacracy.”

Desi’s story spilled out about pestering everyone from Liadrin to Theron to A’dal itself to get the order to move and with each word, Izzy grew more and more incensed. When Desi fell silent, Izzy’s chest heaved with the effort of restraining her screams.

“Six months. Six  _ fucking _ months waiting for Theron to grow enough balls to declare war. Months of gathering evidence, recruiting, and burying the remnants of our cursed people.” She clutched her bag tighter and tighter. “And all of it could have been avoided if he’d only grown a spine and did what needed to be done!”

She threw her pack against the wall with a scream. All of her pain. All those deaths. All of it could have been avoided. She would still be a healer. She’d still have her faith and courage, her belief in her friends. She wouldn’t have been such a broken shadow of herself if none of it had happened. A sob stopped her in her tracks. Tears streaked down Desi’s red cheeks and Izzy paled.

“Shit,” she swore.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t - I had no idea - oh fuck, I should have gone in. I should have - something.” Desi dropped to her knees. “I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to leave you, please…”

Izzy knelt down and hugged Desi tight to her chest. The paladin sobbed out apologies and pleas for forgiveness and it broke through the wall she tried to build around her heart. That wasn’t who she was. She couldn’t keep people out no matter how hard she tried. And Desi was always honest with her. She tried hard and did the best she could with obstinate nobles getting in the way. Izzy stroked her hair with gentle fingers, combing the fine blonde strands until Desi’s sobs calmed.

“I’m not angry at you, Desi. You did your best with what you had after pushing yourself to recover from your curse. It’s not your fault they dragged their feet for so long.”

“But it’s my fault you gave yourself up. You never would have gone to Tempest Keep if it wasn’t for me.”

Izzy shook her head, her voice ringing with conviction. “You’re not responsible for the choices I make. I chose to go to the keep. I chose to make that deal.” She swallowed and softened her tone. “You didn’t have to come back. You didn’t have to try and reach me even when I was lost in bloodlust. You chose to. You chose to be the friend I needed then, just like you are now, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto Desi’s head. No matter what she felt, she couldn’t blame Desi. Not when she tried so hard to be there for her. It was a reminder that no one was perfect. Her friends would make mistakes the same as she would. She always held herself to impossible standards. She just hadn’t realized she also held her friends to those same standards. They couldn’t read her mind. They had no way of communicating with her once she was inside the keep. No one could be held to a standard of perfection because there was no such thing. There were only people trying their best and doing everything they could to make up for the times they failed.

“You’ve really grown,” Izzy murmured and tucked Desi’s head under her chin. “I’m proud to call you my friend.”

Desi sobbed and clung to her harder. Izzy whispered reassurances and forgiveness. It wasn’t lip service either. She didn’t blame Desi at all. She couldn’t blame anyone, not her family, friends, or even herself, for what happened. But she could blame the people who hurt her. Those who didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Callidora for feeding her that demon blood and for her psychological abuse. Kael’thas for serving the Burning Legion and cursing their people. Lor’themar for dragging his feet and ignoring his duty. Thankfully they were either dead, soon to be dead, or she didn’t interact with them enough to hold onto her anger. But she would not forgive. Or forget.

Desi sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve cuff. “Even now, after all that, you’re still a healer.” She gave her a weak smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve to meet you but I’m grateful.”

“Nobody  _ deserves _ friendship.” Izzy pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed Desi’s cheeks. “It’s something you earn, through time, care, and effort. You did so much for my sake, there’s nothing to forgive. I’m proud to call you my friend, no matter our differences in the past.”

A heavy weight shifted and fell away, leaving her heart lighter for it. What happened scarred them but they would be all the stronger for it. They would heal and grow. It was the first step on a long journey but Izzy looked forward to walking it. Other challenges would crop up along the way but she would tackle them as they came. 

And she wouldn’t do it alone.

“Where are you going anyway?” Desi asked and wiped her eyes.

“Kalimdor. There’s an old friend there that might be able to shed some light on things.” Desi snorted and Izzy groaned when she realized the pun. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance. That was beautiful. And awful.”

Izzy rolled her eyes and shoved her lightly but the two of them laughed as they collected themselves. She haphazardly tossed things into her crumpled pack and passed several envelopes to Desi. While she didn’t want to send the larger letters to Sylvanas and Lo’Gosh, there were others she needed sent. Once she was dressed and geared up, Izzy looped her arm through Desi’s and they made their way out of the Establishment. Izzy took a more obscure route that let out in a small teahouse in the noble district.

The proprietor didn’t even blink as they strolled through his business and out into the sun drenched streets of Silvermoon. The two of them rode for Sunfury Spire and took the orb to Lordaeron. Izzy hesitated in the courtyard. Desi turned her armor clad charger and glanced over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s waiting for me there. Someone I promised I wouldn’t leave behind again.” Izzy bit her lip. “But I don’t know if…”

Desi glanced back and forth between the zeppelin in the distance and the entrance to the city. Izzy trembled. She argued with herself. Vana would understand. If anyone would, it would be her. She brushed her fingers against her cheeks. The demon blood left her scarred inside and out. They would heal but she wasn’t the same woman who left all those months ago. And if Vana accepted her, could she stop herself from clinging to her? Did she even want to? An immediate no sprang to her lips but she swallowed it back. Her words from Hallow’s End echoed back to her.

_ “I swear. I swear on everything I have that I’ll come back.” _

She refused to break that promise.

“Will you come with me?” Her voice sounded small and hesitant to her.

Desi nodded and dismounted before escorting her into the city. They made their way down and Izzy led the way to the Apothecarium. Every step elated and terrified her until she stood, shaking, in front of the doors to the Royal Quarter and unable to speak. Desi squeezed her shoulder and stepped up to speak to the Dark Rangers. They let them through and Izzy swallowed. She tugged her hood down and didn’t make eye contact as they followed the narrow corridor into the throne room. Thankfully, Sylvanas stood alone but for Nathanos and her personal guards. No Dreadlord, no other adventurers, no obstacles in her way. Izzy’s stomach lurched.

“Excuse the interruption Dark Lady,” Desi said with a bow. “My friend has just returned from Outlands and - ”

“Vana?”

Izzy’s voice, thick with emotion, drew the sharp eye of the Banshee Queen. At her signal, the room emptied. Even Nathanos stepped away but he muttered under his breath the whole time. He approached Desi from behind and jabbed her in the back.

“You come with me.”

“Do I have a choice?”

He curled his lip.

“That’s fair.” She shrugged at Izzy and let Nathanos prod her away.

Once they were alone, Izzy took several shaky steps to the dais. Sylvanas met her halfway and stopped. With slow motions, she reached up and grasped the edge of Izzy’s hood. Izzy inhaled sharply but didn’t stop her as Sylvanas lowered the fabric. Izzy stood, open and raw, her shield gone, under the other woman’s scrutiny. Vana’s graze trailed over her face and the claw on the thumb of her gauntlet brushed over the scars that fanned from her eyes down her cheeks. Izzy’s lips trembled and she swallowed.

“I came back. Just like I promised.” Tears welled up and turned her vision blurry. She closed her eyes. “But I missed a letter. I’m sorry.”

* * *

With Naxxramas destroyed and sent back to Icecrown, nothing stood between her and finding Isoldera. Ever since her visit with vonTwilight, she kept her ears to the ground for any piece of news. Maddeningly, nothing reached her until word of a civil war in Quel’thalas came. Prince Kael’thas betrayed his people to serve the Burning Legion. The coward fled the moment the sin’dorei assembled against him and Sylvanas ensured at least two companies of her own troops were sent to hunt him down.

The insult. The gall. After Sylvanas fought and died for Quel’thalas, for the people abandoned by the prince who stayed in his floating ivory tower, he betrayed them all to serve the demonic horde. It wasn’t as insulting as if he joined Arthas but her anger still raged. She hadn’t lost her life, then have her peace ripped away, for that fucking traitor to destroy the last remnants of her home. Former home.

The home Isoldera had returned to.

When she heard her little light’s tremulous voice, it took all of her control to remain outwardly detached while inwardly something surged. The force of her relief almost knocked her back but she remained steady. She hadn’t believed herself capable of feeling so deeply yet she couldn’t deny her sluggish pulse quickened and her breath caught even though she had no need to breathe. Longing and another emotion she dared not name filled her at the sight of her little light. For the first time since she was forced into undeath, one of the living followed through on their word.

She needed to see her face. See the truth. Sylvanas lowered the hood and froze. Unholy fire rose in her cheeks as her vision reddened.

Fine, spider like scars fanned out from dull, foggy eyes and grew darker as they snaked down her cheeks and neck. Her dark, sunkissed skin was too pale and stretched too tight over bones. She didn’t radiate that annoying Light and couldn’t meet her eyes. Someone nearly smothered the last bit of light Sylvanas had in the world and her body shook with the force of her rage.

“Who did this?” she hissed.

Isoldera looked away. “My own stupidity.”

“Explain,” she demanded then softened her tone when the priestess flinched. “What happened, little light?”

“I...I don’t even know where to start.”

Silently, Sylvanas stroked the limp, straggling curls and waited. Though her fury burned high and hot at whomever had hurt Isoldera, she needed to remain calm. It became a monumental struggle as the story unfolded. When Isoldera choked out that her mother fed her demon blood, the same substance the orcs consumed, Sylvanas held onto her physical form by the thinnest thread. Kael’thas would pay for his part of her torture even if it would be enacted by her people and not herself. However, one question remained.

“What happened to Callidora?”

Her little light sobbed. “I killed her. I know she was my mother but I still did it. I killed them all. Her guards, Kael’s soldiers,  _ my people _ , I smashed in their heads and gutted them. I tore them to pieces and I  _ laughed. _ I  _ enjoyed it _ . I fought it as hard as I could but I was glad they were dead because they couldn’t hurt me anymore.”

Isoldera dissolved into tears and threw herself into Sylvanas’ arms. She caught her with the ease of long practice and pulled her close. Muscle memory took over and she swayed slightly as she held her. Though she didn’t understand the guilt or shame that came from killing an opponent, her little light was different. Isoldera had never killed in cold blood, only in defense of herself and others. Her heart was more tender than it appeared, despite her willingness to step onto the battlefield. Yet Sylvanas couldn’t find her weak because it was the strength of Isoldera’s heart that led her to risking it on the night of Hallow’s Eve.

A knot in her chest came undone. Despite her torture, Isoldera kept her promise. She came back to her. No one had done anything like that for Sylvanas since her death. Her arms tightened around the too-thin priestess.

“I’m sorry. I almost didn’t come. I’m a mess, probably as bad as I was after the fall, but I missed you so damn much.” Isoldera whispered, voice hoarse from crying. “I was so scared I’d never see you again, that you’d think I broke my word, and even though I’m not the woman who left, I still had to come back. I can’t - I can’t heal anymore. I can’t be your little light. I’m scarred and corrupted - ”

“As am I.”

The admission stopped the priestess short. Isoldera groaned before trying to wiggle away but Sylvanas knew her quirks. Her little light always tried to hide whenever she was embarrassed. She dug her fingers into the pack pressed against the small of Isoldera’s back and didn’t let go.

“I am scarred. Corrupted. An undead abomination who should not even exist.” She shook her head against Isoldera’s protests. “I am a being who has been dubbed a monster by the living, undeserving of kindness or respect.”

She tilted her little light’s chin up and traced the new scars that would eventually fade but did nothing to mar the woman’s beauty. Isoldera’s mouth turned down in a frown and she vibrated with the urge to argue back but held her silence so Sylvanas could speak. Another small act of respect, one Isoldera most likely didn’t recognize. Even though Sylvanas despised the living as a whole and still believed them selfish, arrogant, lying scum, she had no fear in placing her trust with her little light.

“You understand. You see me clearly. I could do no less for you.” She smiled, the motion almost foreign to her after so long, and traced Isoldera’s full, lower lip. “Accept that there was nothing you could have done about the letter and have confidence that you still kept your word to return to me. That promise mattered more than a few words on flimsy papers. You’ve returned and your mission to win your freedom was a success. Callidora will never be able to control you again.”

Hollow eyes widened and a familiar glimmer sparked to life in their depths. Sylvanas smirked. Her little light would recover. More than that, she would forge herself into something new. A strange feeling, hope. Or perhaps it was faith. Either way, there was no doubt in her mind that Isoldera would rise once more.

With a joyful laugh that did interesting things to her pulse, Isoldera wrapped her arms around her shoulders and pulled her down for a kiss.

Sylvanas froze in momentary shock. She had been the one to initiate their kiss on Hallow’s End. Isoldera came to her and let her take the lead, knowing the risk since the Light coursed within her. But that cursed force was gone. Isoldera stood in her arms, warm and alive and eager, and she could hold her as long as she desired without fear. Sylvanas cradled the back of her head and tilted it back so she could take advantage of her height and plunder the lips of the all-too-willing priestess.

Though she still suffered the curse of numbed sensations, the act itself and the emotion it carried meant more. She couldn’t taste Isoldera as keenly or feel her softness and heat but her little light was still there. Still wrapped up in her arms and desperate for her touch. In truth, Sylvanas desired it as well. Since Hallow’s End, with only letters and the magnificent gift at Winter’s Veil, the world slowly returned to the dull days of before. She still had Lordaeron to rule and wars to fight but she lacked that spark, that flicker of light and life that Isoldera brought with her.

Hot puffs of air brushed her cheeks and chin and the softest whimper came from the priestess. Her pulse quickened. Again. She needed to hear that again. She tightened her grip on Isoldera’s hips and lifted her with ease.

The priestess squeaked and broke the kiss in her surprise. “You kiss like you missed me,” she murmured and wrapped her legs around Sylvanas’ waist.

Delicious heat and friction built between them as the priestess showed off her strength and rocked against her in slow, sinuous motions. Even if she didn’t feel it as acutely as she had before, she couldn’t stop the low, aggressive sound that left her lips as she kissed Isoldera again. Her little light met her with a breathless moan and she lost herself in the moment. They kissed and tasted each other, growing more heated and desperate, until even Sylvanas’ supernatural strength started to fail her. She squeezed the firm, round ass she held in both hands and eyed her throne. Isoldera always did enjoy the power play they engaged in. And she was no longer Ranger-General but Queen.

What would that do to her little light?

She needed to find out.

A small cough interrupted her plans to pull Isoldera to her throne and continue her indulgence. She pulled back from lush, kiss-bruised red lips and glared over the priestess’s shoulder at the only person who would dare approach her at such a moment. Isoldera muttered in her ear,

“Fucking clam jammer.”

“A thousand apologies my queen but the paladin grows restless and I refuse to be reduced to cheap entertainment while you avail yourself of your wench in the throne room.” Nathanos stood at casual attention, hands behind his back, voice filled with sarcasm.

“Oh but Nathanos,” Isoldera turned her head, which gave Sylvanas a glimpse of her neck. She wanted to bite it. “There’s so much ‘cheap’ about you. Cheap date, cheap shot, cheap - ”

Sylvanas lightly bit her neck and silenced Isoldera, who gasped and shuddered. “Enough of that, little light. No baiting my champion.”

“Can I bait you instead?”

“Only if you intend to suffer the consequences,” she hissed and smirked when Isoldera shuddered and moaned. “So you still go weak at the knees just at the sound of my voice,” she purred and blew gently on her little light’s ear, making her squirm and cling tighter. “I shall remember that.”

“ _ Ahem. _ My queen, the paladin?”

Sylvanas shot him another look for interrupting her fun and gently set Isoldera on her feet. “You may escort her out, Nathanos. With my thanks for accompanying the priestess.” She waved at him in dismissal.

Once he was gone, she couldn’t resist leaning in for another brief kiss, drinking in Isoldera’s flushed cheeks, parted lips, and half-lidded, begging eyes. But she couldn’t indulge. Not then. She was still queen and still had responsibilities. She brushed Isoldera’s curls behind her ear and used the chance to tickle the sensitive skin with her claw. Her little light cried out softly and her knees buckled.

“Cheater,” she complained, a small smile on her lips. “Just for that, I’m going to take even longer in Orgrimmar.”

Sylvanas frowned. “What could possibly call you back to that rotten armpit the orcs call a city?”

Isoldera snickered behind her hand. “That’s a good one and you’re not wrong.’ She sobered with a sigh. “I want to talk to Archie. There has to be a way to get my healing powers back. Not necessarily through the Light but...somehow. He doesn’t like the Light but he can still wield its power. I have to try.”

It made sound logic but Sylvanas bristled at the thought of parting so soon after her return. Yet she pushed aside her own desires and nodded. Isoldera needed to make the journey and Sylvanas needed time to ponder her relationship with the priestess. How much to make public, how much to keep private, and where they stood. She almost snorted at the irony. The very reason Isoldera came to her on Hallow’s End and they still didn’t have an answer. Far easier to just...be.

“Send me a message when you are finished in Orgrimmar. We still have much to discuss.”

She leaned up and kissed her cheek with a warm smile. “Thank you Vana. You’ll hear from me as soon as I return. I promise.”

The words settled something tight and uneasy in her and Sylvanas was able to let her go, though she missed the connection as soon as her little light wasn’t in her arms. She stepped back to her throne as Nathanos led the paladin back into the throne room. She nodded in acknowledgment to the woman’s bow and the two of them left together, Isoldera pulling her hood back up and over her face. Sylvanas’ gaze followed her little light until she disappeared down the corridor.

She would return. She promised. Sylvanas repeated that to herself as part of her still whispered it could be a trick. But for the first time since she became the Banshee Queen, she wanted to believe. She wanted to hope.

“What did you learn from the paladin?” she asked as Nathanos stepped up.

“Little. She was frustratingly tight-lipped about the priestess but she did give me this.” He handed her a thick sheaf of papers. “Apparently the priestess hadn’t intended to give them to you but the paladin decided to pass them along. I gathered they were written shortly after her rescue from Tempest Keep.”

Sylvanas tucked the papers into her belt with a nod. She would read it when she retired for the evening, preferably with a glass of wine. Though her body couldn’t physically get drunk or even enjoy the taste of the vintage, the familiar motions would help when reading about Isoldera’s torment. For she had no doubt her little light suffered greatly on her initial return to Azeroth. Unwittingly, her gaze drifted towards the doors.

“Ugh, you’re  _ smitten. _ ”

Sylvanas shot him a glare but smirked. “Don’t be jealous, Nathanos. I’m certain your dogs would be happy to warm your bed if you get lonely.”

He made a face. “How droll,” he drawled, his voice flat. “Truly my queen, your wit is unparalleled.”

“As is your jealousy. Honestly Nathanos, you could be just as witty if you tried,” she quipped back.

“Indeed.” He cleared his throat and her Dark Rangers and Deathstalkers reappeared like shadows. “Have you looked over the latest reports from Silvermoon? It seems the wayward prince has captured Sunwell Plateau.”

Paperwork. The ultimate hell. Sylvanas smoothed her features and settled on her throne as she accepted the large stacks of reports, petitions, and supply orders. She would strategize as she read and certainly not think of Isoldera. Much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is CHONKY.
> 
> Seriously, I hadn't expected the chapter to get this long and I realized I needed 20 chapters after all. Next chapter is going to wrap up the main story and chapter 20 is going to be another interlude setting up the trek to Northrend. Will Izzy finally hear from Lo'Gosh? Think Desi will get a show when she reaches the conference in Theramore and hands Varian and Garrosh letters from Izzy? And there's going to be more with Izzy and Sylvanas working out where they stand, which I'm excited to write about. Sparks are gonna flyyyyy <3
> 
> Thank you as always for your kudos and comments, they always make me smile, and for new readers dropping into Izzy's corner of Azeroth: welcome! Everyone have a safe and sane new year and I'll see you all in 2021!


	19. Almost There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde. *UPDATED WEDNESDAYS*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous fluff ahead!

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’Thalas**

The zeppelin docked at the tower outside Orgrimmar and at least a dozen adventurers leaped over the side. Izzy shook her head and followed the few travellers left onto the dock before a new cluster rushed on. She yelped and dodged as best she could but almost fell off the damn tower before Desi grabbed her hand and pulled her to relative safety. They waited for the main crush to pass before starting down the ramp.

“Now I get why some people jump it despite the risk of broken limbs,” Desi muttered and cursed in Thalassian about sheep and idiots.

Izzy nodded as they trotted down to the ground level. “Where do you think you’ll go next?”

“After a quick errand, I’m heading back to Quel’thalas. Lady Liadrin wants all knights on hand and I’ve got a score to settle with Kael’thas.”

Izzy paused off to the side of the tower and summoned Sethrin. “You’ll be careful? The Burning Legion isn’t something to underestimate.”

“I’ll be careful and I’ll write.” Desi hugged her tight, her charger nickering behind her. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

They mounted up and rode together as far as the bank before they separated. Desi waved from the top of the flight master’s tower and Izzy raised her hand in farewell as the paladin took a wyvern and headed south. She sighed and pulled on her hood. The desert heat didn’t beat down as hard during the day since summer was coming to an end but a light beading of sweat still broke out around her hairline. Izzy had wrapped the locks in a messy braid on the ride over but it didn’t do much in keeping her cool. She clicked her tongue and guided Sethy through the busy city streets.

As she approached the arena, a little flutter started in her stomach. What if Lo’Gosh was still there? If he hadn’t escaped, Rehgar might have kept her letters from him out of spite. She wouldn’t put it past the bastard. Would she see him again? Her pulse quickened at the thought and she bit her lips as a sudden surge of nerves rose up. If she did, would she be able to leave him to a gladiator’s life? She didn’t have her powers but she was a lot stronger than she’d been the last time they met. It was possible she could help him and his team escape. With their skills and hers, it was more than possible. If she saw them, she’d do it. She dismissed her mount before stepping into the arena. Memories assaulted her from all sides.

Days arguing with Archie. Learning new techniques from the tailors in the Drag. Training and exercising with the arena guards.

Lo’Gosh.

She didn’t want to consider the worst: that he had perished in the arena. Her steps quickened as she made for the infirmary. Could it be? Was  _ that _ why he hadn’t written? Had he died in a bloodbath before a jeering crowd, never discovering who he was or the life he once had? Her throat tightened. She worked herself into such a state by the time she got to the infirmary, she was half convinced she’d see either a bloody body or worse, nothing at all. She slammed open the doors.

“Archie, where the fuck are you?”

A clatter and curse in Gutterspeak. “You fucking wench, what have I told you about slamming doors?”

Izzy looked around the empty room and sighed before she snorted. “You never told me shit about that. I think the maggots finally reached your brain.” No sign of Lo’Gosh, thank Belore. “I’m serious, where are you?”

“In the office you mannerless child.”

She made her way back to the space that served as Archie’s office and sleeping area. As a Forsaken he didn’t necessarily need sleep, but when she worked there, she insisted he rest anyway. He became far less grouchy as a result and she wondered if he cut his naps since she’d been away. She pushed open the door and smiled. Sparse was a good word for it. A desk loaded with papers and books on one side and a cot-like bed on the other. Her throat closed up when she spotted one of the blankets she’d made for the infirmary draped over his bed. He swiveled in his desk chair and sighed.

“Well. What do you want? You’re lucky it’s between exhibitions or you’d be - ”

Izzy hugged him. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Although he fought it for several minutes, eventually he sighed and relaxed, giving her a pat on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you too. Now hurry up and make tea and tell me what brought you back here.”

She hid a laugh but did as she was told, preparing the tea in the infirmary itself, and adding a few more ingredients to Archie’s mug. After tinkering with recipes and remembering her many failures with Renee, she had a notion and wanted to mix it before bringing the steaming mugs back to the office.

“Any word of Lo’Gosh?” she asked as she set his drink down.

“Ha! Knew you were sweet on him but no, not a peep since he escaped.” He took a deep drink and sighed, then started in surprise. “What the - what’s in this?”

“Why?” she asked as she sipped her own, clutching the mug to hide her trembling hands. He was alive. Thank Belore.

“Don’t play with me. I can  _ taste _ this. What the fuck did you put in it?”

She grinned at him. “A mixture of pepper and cinnamon along with black tea. Took the spiciest peppers known to mankind, toasted then powdered them, balanced it out with cinnamon and a drop or two of lemon juice, and voila. For the living, it’s undrinkable but my taste-tester said it was pleasantly tingly with some kick.”

“They weren’t wrong,” he murmured and sipped again. “How did you come up with this?”

“Just had the idea that if a Forsaken’s senses were numbed, if not dead, why not take standard enhancers for taste and push them to their max? I’m determined to perfect my cake recipe by Winter’s Veil.”

He chuckled and sat back in his chair. “Leave some of this with me when you go. Which brings me to my question: what do you want?”

Izzy set down her mug with a sigh and chewed her lip. “The story’s painful in the telling, so bear with me.” What followed was an excruciating story session, filling in details to Archie’s pointed questions, and trying not to sink into her memories. “The Light abandoned me the minute I swallowed the demon blood. I’m not a healer anymore. Can’t even call myself a priestess. Then Zar’s loa led me here and I thought - ”

“Maybe I’d have the answer.” He shook his head. “You may have heard me bitch about the Light a time or two.”

“Or twenty,” she quipped.

“Shut up. The reason I do is because it’s standard for the Light to keep a tight grip on its followers. It relies on their devotion to spread its message and preserve what it perceives as the true order of the universe. A priest’s power comes from their faith. You’ve lost yours, which means the Light has no use for you.”

She flinched. “So it just throws me away? After serving it for so long?”

“You don’t fit into its idea of the One True Path anymore. Same way the Forsaken don’t. And in case you missed it, the Light has no shortage of people needing something to believe in and taking up the cause.”

He had a point there. A priest’s faith, whether that be in their deity, mission, or something else, powered their abilities. Even after the fall, Izzy’s identity revolved around being a healer and bringing order back to a world in chaos. But when the world settled more, she hadn’t thought as much about order, and instead focused on healing. She’d been pulling away from the Light for years, Tempest Keep was just the catalyst that finally severed the bond. She blotted her face and the back of her neck with a handkerchief and sighed.

“So I have to find a new deity to swear myself to in order to get back my abilities. Fantastic. As if that doesn’t fill me with confidence,” she grumbled and drank, wishing she’d brought something stronger.

“You may not have a choice. You’re not a druid, shaman, or paladin. Even if magic is part of your makeup, that doesn’t mean you can, or should, use it to heal. Since you’re not looking to the Light, your options are limited.” He sipped again. “Fuck that’s good. I’ve never heard of a loa taking a non-troll follower and wouldn’t want one if it were me. Any idea why this one singled you out?”

“Probably as a favor to Zar. He did say he was a devoted follower.”

If she were honest, Izzy didn’t fancy the thought of dedicating herself to a loa either. Zar’s stories about Bwonsamdi, Shadra, Jani, and the Father of Sleep painted stark pictures. Tricksters, deal makers, spies, and more described many of the loa. The Father of Sleep was far crueler and Zar wouldn’t even name him for fear of drawing the ancient death god’s eye. Gral didn’t seem too bad and Pa’ku had a wicked sense of humor but it still didn’t feel right. She wasn’t a troll, nor was she raised with troll culture, which meant she couldn’t put all of her faith in a loa…or anything else.

“I don’t think I could ever trust a higher power enough to have the kind of faith a priest needs,” she murmured.

Without that faith, she wouldn’t manifest any magic. She wouldn’t be a healer ever again but would that be so bad? She could become a warrior or perhaps a rogue. Kav could teach her. Her heart lurched. Panic crawled up her spine and gripped her by the throat. That meant remaking her entire identity. Who was she if she wasn’t a healer? Archie rapped the desk hard inches from her fingers and she jumped.

“Damnit, Archie, don’t  _ do _ that.”

“You’re brooding. Stop that bullshit and pay attention.” He leaned close, deadlights steady on her face. “Are you listening?” She nodded. “Good. You.” He pointed at her. “Are a healer. That is your path. You’ve been knocked down, battered, and cracked, but you’re far from broken.”

Izzy’s eyes widened and she scoffed. “Archie, I don’t know if you were listening but I’m pretty sure - ”

“If you were, you wouldn’t be here looking to get your powers back. Fuck, you wouldn’t want anything to do with healing if you were really that shattered by what happened. But you’re here and you want to heal again and it’s good that you do. One day you’re going to be needed. Someone, whether it’s a loved one or a stranger, is going to need you but what if you never took the leap of faith? You’d have no power. No healing abilities. All you could do is stand there and watch them die.”

She froze as the force of his words sliced through her. Memories of a ship full of water and screaming children flashed between watching someone waste away after a ghoul attack then to Lo’Gosh when she’d had to stand aside and watch him walk back into subjugation. Her heart twisted and she started panting. What if Sylvanas was ever injured? What if one of her friends needed her? If she had no magic, she wouldn’t be able to save others...or herself. She pressed her hand to her chest and tried to send out the pulse of magic that revealed her health but only silence answered. Archie’s hand gripped hers and squeezed until the pain jerked her out of her spiralling horror.

“ _ Listen to me. _ You are many things but you are not a coward. Trust is hard to earn and easily lost yet you’ve earned the trust of dozens. Hundreds, maybe. They know that if there’s someone in need, if  _ they _ are in need, you’ll be there.”

She stared at Archie, her mouth hanging open, as he reminded her of what else made her Izzy Ambershield.

“You are too smart to keep wallowing in self pity. Take your time to grieve but never forget that time moves on. The sun rises everyday and will set every evening. If you can’t rely on anything else, rely on that.”

Izzy opened and closed her mouth. Archie huffed and went back to his tea, like he hadn’t just completely upended her world.

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing, it’s just...can’t help but think I’m dreaming. You’ve never said anything like that to me.”

“Never needed to. Even back then, you knew who you were. You took stupid chances and almost killed yourself more than once but you were the best assistant I ever had.” He finished his tea with a sigh. “Now make me some more of that.”

She chuckled and did as she was told. As she waited for the water to boil again, her thoughts pinged all over the place. The sun. Wasn’t there a sun deity in Azeroth? The kal’dorei had Elune, the Moon Goddess. There had to be something. Izzy frowned and then yelped as hot water bubbled over and almost splashed her toes. Flushing, she quickly fixed the tea and brought it to Archie, putting that spark of a thought aside.

“You keep missing a point, Archie: I’ve lost my faith. I don’t know how or if I’ll ever get it back. Didn’t you lose your faith after you were risen and the Light turned its face from you?” she asked and sat back down.

“I did, for a bit, but then I thought of something. I have to believe there’s a place for me in its version of order. I wouldn’t have been called back from the Endless Dark and raised into the Dark Lady’s service if it wasn’t part of the universe’s great plan. And since the Light is all about order and following its plan, I reasoned that I followed its teachings by sticking to the plan.” He raised his mug with a smirk. “Certain beings who wield or embody the Light may be choosy but even they can’t argue with that.”

That...made sense. If one couldn’t believe in the Light, they could believe in order and the idea of a plan, to bring comfort and conviction to their lives. Rather than the panic that often came when the thought of the universe being random was challenged, a person could argue it was random for a reason. That every oddity and inconsistency was part of the great plan and order of the universe.

“You clever bastard,” she mused and laughed. He raised a toast to her and they drank. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Good. Here’s hoping you’ll use that head of yours and - oi!”

Izzy set her mug aside and she pulled him into a tight hug. Although he sputtered and grouched, he didn’t push her away. So she decided to be evil and placed a big, smacking kiss on his head. Archie froze. His jaw dropped but thankfully didn’t fall off. He touched his hair and stared at her as she pulled away, satisfied at having thanked him and rattled his cage. Her playfulness vanished as she touched his knee and when she spoke, her voice rang with her sincerity.

“Thank you Archie. I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher.”

He patted her hand. “Write to me once you’ve figured out what you’re going to do. I didn’t invest this much time and effort into you to see you waste it.”

“Of course.”

With that, she rose to leave. They traded goodbyes and she left him the tea recipe before she headed back into the city. She needed to research. Sunfury Spire had all of the remaining records of sin’dorei history but after the war and Kael’s attack on Silvermoon, it was debatable how much actually remained. If worse came to worse, she could ask Kav, but she didn’t think she was ready to face him again. While his actions may have come with good intentions, he still drugged her, caged her, and acted like he was lord and master over her life. He had a lot to answer for but that would keep. She had more important things to do. She sent her message to Sylvanas, as promised, and cloistered herself in the library.

Izzy spent the following days researching in the library and re-establishing herself in Renee’s good graces. She scoured every book that had any mention of a sun deity. The sin’dorei swore by the sun, they wore its colors on their tabard, it was part of their culture, and they had, indeed, called it Belore. From what she gathered, Belore had been the quel’dorei’s singular deity until they became more closely allied with the Alliance, who introduced the Light into their teachings. Over the years, Belore was forgotten. The light of the sun and the Light were seen as one in the same, much to Izzy’s frustration. 

Belore was nothing like the Light. For one, the sun deity (the books never stated if Belore was male or female, but until corrected, Izzy would think of Belore as female) represented healing, knowledge, fire, and hope. The promise that even in the darkest night, the sun would rise once more. Belore may have been a stern deity, for the sun could be punishing as much as healing, but she didn’t punish without reason. Nor did she abandon her followers without just cause. One of the lines in an acolyte’s journal stood out to her: the sun didn’t stop rising because of a storm. 

She closed her last book and went over her notes as hunger set in. Midsummer had passed while she was imprisoned and once more fall creeped up on them. The Wickerman Festival was two month away and Izzy looked forward to attending again. She and Alesta had their daily sessions but the mind healer came to Renee’s, insisting it was better to talk in person than over communication crystals. She’d do a small ritual to announce herself to the goddess and seek her initial blessing. Then, if things went well, she’d dedicate herself fully to Belore’s service at midwinter, with the rebirth of the sun.

“Find what you were looking for?” Renee asked when she returned to the inn later that day.

“I hope so, otherwise I’m going to have to look at a career change.” She stretched until her shoulders and neck popped.

“Heh. Good luck with that. By the way, a letter came for you. I left it in your room.”

Izzy thanked her and headed upstairs. Much to her shock, Renee kept her room open and available for her. When she first came back, the room had been aired, a fire built, and other small comforts had been placed as though Renee expected her back any day. Izzy hadn’t questioned her good fortune as she settled in. She opened the door and spotted the white envelope on her desk. Her pulse skipped at the sight of the familiar, graceful calligraphy. It wasn’t as pristine as she remembered but only one person stylized the first letter of her name like that. She tore it open.

_ I trust the accommodations are still to your liking. I expect you in my throne room tomorrow at noon. Do not be late, little light. _

_ -S _

“Like I would dare,” she murmured and pressed a kiss to the single initial. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Vana.”

The smile never left her face as she readied herself for bed and slipped under the blankets. For the first time in weeks, she slept without nightmares. Although it meant breaking that wonderful sleep, she still got herself up with plenty of time to bathe, get dressed, and eat a good breakfast. While she didn’t have the figure she had before Tempest Keep, she was filling back out and her appetite was slowly returning. She luxuriated in a hot bath and took the time to properly lotion and style her hair. During her travels, she often didn’t have the time to take care of the heavy masses of curls. The thick locks hit her hips and she found herself sitting on them more often than not.

“Maybe it’s time for a trim,” she muttered and examined the ends of her hair as she once again tugged them free.

She’d have to stop in Orgrimmar. She still wasn’t up to seeing Kav, although they exchanged several letters, and the only other reliable barbers were in the orc city. In the meantime, she wove her hair into a half-up braided crown that left the rest of her hair loose. Once she slipped in the last pin, she put on her boots, and headed for the city. The morning air was cool but humid and she alternated between tugging her cloak tighter against the chill and pushing it off her arms to let her skin breathe.

Once she reached the Royal Quarter, one of the Dark Rangers took her aside and slipped her into the labyrinth of corridors and rooms that opened behind the throne room. They passed rooms for resting where rangers or deathstalkers lay in beds or tended their weapons. A small, sparring area had a few people exercising or fighting with anyone who’d bother. Overall, it was a neat, tidy space reminiscent of the old Farstrider barracks. Her guide pointed her into a room that was sparsely furnished with a desk and two chairs, but had a fire burning in the hearth to chase away the chill that clung to the stone walls.

Izzy warmed her hands over the flames, touched by the gesture. Sylvanas didn’t need the fire but she still had one prepared. She smiled fondly. While the spark of passion in their relationship burned as strong as ever, Izzy sometimes wondered how their relationship would work when they weren’t addled by lust. Small gestures like the fire reassured her that perhaps things would work out better than either of them hoped.

The door opened without a knock and Sylvanas stepped in. Izzy beamed at her and bowed her head in respect. “Vana.”

“Isoldera.” Sylvanas approached her but paused before they could touch. The warmth of welcome faded as the Banshee Queen schooled her features and gestured to the chairs before the desk. “We need to talk.”

Izzy nodded and moved to sit in one of the offered chairs. She smoothed her hands over her knees and decided to tackle the topic head on. “I’m open to following your lead on what you want us to be. You’re a queen. You have greater responsibilities than you did as Ranger-General and a larger kingdom to look after.”

Sylvanas surprised her when she sat in the chair next to her rather than behind the desk. Izzy reached for her hand and Sylvanas stiffened for a moment before she allowed her shoulders to relax. They shared a small smile and Izzy waited for her to speak. She didn’t rush her but cradled her hand for comfort and silent support.

“You’re correct. There are many factors to consider. My position. Yours. You are among the living and I am not. To be frank, I know what I would like this to be but I fear it isn’t possible at the current time.”

Izzy nodded, her heart tight but she didn’t interrupt.

“I want you to be mine once more but you wouldn’t be accepted by my people. In your current state, I fear you would garner suspicion from within and without and your life would be placed in danger.”

“A logical concern,” Izzy allowed. “A lover is a liability. It’s one of the reasons we kept our courtship secret before.”

One of many. Sylvanas and Izzy were both from noble families. Their status back then had never been in question. It had been Callidora, insistent on dragging her daughter across the length and breadth of the Eastern Kingdoms, that mostly kept them apart. Then there was the gossip that always surrounded the Ranger-General. Her decision to allow a human to be a Ranger Lord. Rejecting every male suitor who ever sought her hand and allowing the rangers in her company freedoms unheard of in the high society of Silvermoon. Now that she was queen, there would be even more gossip. More enemies. More people who would want to tear them apart or use one to hurt the other.

Izzy wouldn’t be that kind of liability.

“This leads me to my proposal: a second courtship.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “That sounds promising. What would it entail?”

“You stay and serve me. Let my people see you, show them your loyalty and devotion, and become a part of the Forsaken. It will also allow me to come to terms with my own deficiencies.”

“You aren’t deficient. Not in the ways that matter. And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

Sylvanas shook her head, expression flat. Izzy reached up and brushed her fingers over Vana’s cheek. The thin, hollowed cheek. Cold to the touch but still there. She brushed her thumb over the other woman’s skin in slow strokes before lowering her hand. It was a sound suggestion and Izzy was inclined to agree but she had her own concerns.

“I think that’s a good idea. It’ll give us time to get to know each other again and figure out what we can be now. However, I have something to add.” At Sylvanas’ nod, she continued. “We both have the freedom to seek other compatible partners as well. I will still be yours, nothing would change that, but if someone comes along that I fall in love with just as much as you, I want to be able to pursue them.”

Sylvanas tensed and drew her hands away. “So you can replace me? After claiming that I am not deficient?”

“That’s not fair. I never thought you replaced me when you fell in love with Proudmoore. I gave you my blessings and was happy for you. And I did say that this would be the case for  _ both _ of us. Will you replace me then?”

“She has nothing to do with this,” Sylvanas protested but she did look a little abashed. “And no one could ever replace you.”

“Exactly. As the Banshee Queen, you’ll have to put other things, other people, first. If another war breaks out, I’ll be called away for long stretches of time. I never begrudged your relationship with Jaina because she made you happy when I couldn’t be there. And for the record.” Izzy reclaimed her hand and laced their fingers together. “No one could ever take your place in my heart.”

As Izzy continued to explain her reasoning, Vana’s face lost its tension. If Izzy didn’t know better, she’d swear the other woman actually pouted at her logic. Red veins glowed in her cheeks, the most vibrant blush she’d ever seen, and Izzy smiled. She slid closer so she could press a brief kiss to Vana’s lips.

“I will stay by your side. I will serve you and love you with all my heart. I’ll welcome you with open arms whenever we find time to spend together. Even if I meet someone new and make room for them in my heart, there could never be less for you. I promise.”

Sylvanas sighed. “Your naivete is nauseating but,” she trailed off with a small, rueful smirk. “I find myself inclined to believe you.” She brought a lock of Izzy’s hair over her shoulder and twined it around her fingers. “It is the best compromise we have for now. Very well. If that is what you wish.”

She squeezed Vana’s free hand and brought it up to kiss her knuckles. “What we  _ both _ wish.” She waited until Sylvanas nodded in agreement before she continued. “How shall we present ourselves to the public? I doubt kissing in your throne room is something we can indulge in again.”

“As enjoyable as that was, regrettably we cannot. A single dalliance can be explained away but more than that invites questions.” Sylvanas released the long, curling strands and let them brush over her fingers. “I shall present myself as the Banshee Queen and you as my loyal follower.”

“Even the Forsaken need a healer,” Izzy joked but nodded. “Agreed. We’ll keep things professional in public. We’re no strangers to that. In the meantime, can I stay at Renee’s inn until I can afford my own place?”

Sylvanas’ smirk grew smug. “Who do you think ordered those rooms set aside for your exclusive use, little light?”

Izzy’s jaw dropped and she laughed until she cried. “Oh fuck, I’m such an idiot. How did I never figure it out? It was all you?” Sylvanas nodded and Izzy hugged her. “You didn’t have to do that but thank you. Thank you so much.”

Slender, strong arms wrapped around her back and held her close. They talked a bit longer, Izzy cuddled into Sylvanas’ side, until they hammered everything out about their courtship. They would remain professional in public but set aside time to meet whenever they both had the chance. And of course, they would continue to write to each other. Izzy insisted on that last part.

“I should go. You probably have things to do.” But Izzy made no move to leave her spot at Vana’s side.

“Nathanos has reminded me no less than three times today of matters requiring my attention.”

“They must be important then if he’s bothering that much.” Izzy sat up with reluctance but kept their knees pressed together. “Just means he’ll get crankier if he has to keep reminding you.” Vana’s thumb traced her lower lip and Izzy smiled, heat rising in her cheeks. “A kiss? To hold us until we see each other again?”

“If I must,” she purred and cradled the back of Izzy’s head as she kissed her.

It was slow and sweet and warmed her from the inside out. Her toes curled in her shoes and she squirmed in her chair. Vana’s lips, cold and dry, did little to quench the rising heat within her. It was enough to warm both of them, if she tried. They parted slowly, Izzy still craving the caress of Vana’s lips. It took a bit longer, and a few more kisses, but they eventually managed to separate. Izzy left first, escorted back to the throne room by a Dark Ranger, and pulled her hood up to hide her flushed face.

They finally talked and it went better than she could have hoped. Izzy could stay in Brill and make a life and a home for herself while serving Sylvanas as the Banshee Queen. Vana had been right, a second courtship was what they needed. It would give them the chance to see if more than just heat remained between them. She smiled all the way back to Brill. Her elation prompted her to set up a small altar, light a few candles, and declare her intentions to Belore. She wanted to become her priestess and regain her ability to heal. The candle flames grew larger, flamed higher, before shrinking back to their normal size. Her prayer had been heard. Another stop on the road to recovery. She was almost there.

* * *

Varian Wrynn, no longer two men divided, needed all of his restraint to deal with the envoys from Orgrimmar. While he had saved Anduin, regained his name, and his lost life, it was nothing he could have imagined. Thanks to greedy nobles and black dragons, his kingdom lay in shambles. Homeless farmers and petty thieves cluttered up Westfall, the armies were decimated and stretched too thin, the dwarves almost pulled out of the Alliance after his counterpart’s unwitting insults, and Jaina insisted on the peace summit when the last one ended with him captured and halved by dark magic.

Yet he remained, forced to entertain talks with the beasts who had enslaved him. If he hadn’t made his promise to Anduin, he would have taken his son and gotten on the first ship home. He sent young Lord Ashbough ahead to start damage control with his spymaster, Matthias Shaw, but he itched to be there himself. Still, a king kept his word. A father to his son moreso.

An unexpected storm drove them indoors and Varian sat with his son while Jaina hovered at the window. Though he heard stories of her friendship with the new, young Warchief Thrall, her excitement and the care taken with her appearance hinted at something deeper. Not that he was one to judge but he was appalled at her taste if that were true. Valeera spoke with the other mage, Aegwyn, and nodded to him as his gaze roamed around the room checking for security risks and ensuring no one could sneak up on him.

Anduin tugged on his tunic with a bright smile. So like his mother’s. It called a similar smile to Varian’s lips as he stroked his son’s hair.

“Are you anxious to return to Stormwind?”

He nodded. “I’ve been away for a very long time. It will be good to return home.”

“But there’s so much to discuss here. So much that could lead to our kingdom’s health and prosperity.”

So young and already forced to think like a king. Varian lowered his hand to squeeze the thin shoulder. “That’s the reason I agreed to meet Thrall. Although.” He withdrew his hand as it instinctively clenched for a sword he did not carry. “I think I mainly hate being without my weapon in a room filled with orcs. Even the famous Thrall.”

Anduin nodded his understanding and touched his knee. “But you’re trying and that’s what matters. Thank you, father.”

At that moment, he sounded so like Isadora it hurt. His smile grew strained. He continued receiving letters from her but was advised by Paxton not to write back until his mission was complete. With his focus on retrieving Anduin and killing Onyxia, he resisted even the urge to open them. But it was moments like that which reminded him of her. Her gentle hands and fierce heart. That’s when he could remember.

“I see the zeppelin!” Jaina cried, excitement raising color on her cheeks. “Come. We’ll meet him in the courtyard.”

They gathered in the pouring rain as the orcs descended from the docking platform. The hulking silhouettes bristled with weapons beneath their oiled cloaks and Varian tensed. One of them had brown skin and golden eyes. A new one. Not like the others. Where had he come from? Were there more somewhere, poised to invade Azeroth again? One of the trio broke away to greet Jaina. That had to be Thrall. The third - the third’s presence cut him to the quick. He knew that face. The leer that haunted his dreams. The voice that ordered him to die in the arena or serve on his knees.

Thrall brought Rehgar Earthfury to the so-called peace summit.

“I have invited you here to peacefully discuss your differences with an eye towards your mutual gain,” Jaina declared, her narrowed eyes darting between Varian and the slave owner. “It is now time to lay down our weapons and enter Theramore Keep.”

He stared them down. He would not be the first to lay down his weapon. Not to them. Not to his former captor or to the ones who brought him. It was Anduin who stepped forward and broke the standoff but the tension didn’t dissipate. If they touched his son, he would rend the flesh from their bones.

“Father. Lord Thrall.” Anduin walked between them, utterly fearless, and Varian’s heart swelled with pride even as he grappled with suspicion. “For the duration of our summit.” He knelt and set down his weapon. “Peace.”

The look was aimed at both of them and would have been comical if the atmosphere hadn’t been so strained. Thrall laughed and asked after Anduin, complimenting him on his skills as a diplomat. Varian released a breath as each orc laid down his weapons and Anduin returned to his side. He fought the urge to pull his boy close to his side where he could protect him as he set Shalamayne down. Jaina guided him and Thrall first into the keep, while Anduin fell back near Valeera. She glanced at him and nodded. An acceptable alternative. He trusted Valeera to guard his son with her life.

Drinks were poured and stories shared. Rehgar made a speech about giving up being a gladiator master and abandoning his chase for profit but Varian didn’t believe a word of it. Worse, he revealed that he had once  _ owned _ Varian. The wide-eyed shock on Anduin’s face had him ready to plant his fist in the smirking orc’s face yet he remained cordial. He made a promise and he would not break it. Anduin’s smile and silent encouragement helped cool his rising temper and allowed him to find common ground with Thrall, even if it was through such a thing as slavery.

“Lo’Gosh would not fight to entertain others but he would fight to protect his team.” Rehgar chuckled and had the gall to wink at him. “I should have known then that he was no nameless warrior but a king.”

Varian laced his fingers together to hide his trembling fury and kept his tone flat. “A gladiator’s life is simple. You win and live. Or lose and die.”

“Ah but things like healers complicate such a simple life, don’t you agree?”

The question seared through the air. Even Anduin stopped his argument with the young orc, Garrosh, to stare at Rehgar. Valeera blessedly said nothing but the fury on her face would have buried Rehgar if possible. Varian’s fingers tightened. His knuckles turned white. Everyone waited for what he would say but he held his tongue. No matter what, he would never let Rehgar see that he got to him. The silence dragged on as everyone shifted in their chairs. No one was willing to break the staring contest between orc and human.

“Excuse me, Lady Proudmoore?” One of Jaina’s guards stepped into view.

“What is it?” Her relief at the interruption was palatable.

“There’s uhm, a visitor, ma’am. She says she has messages for your guests and won’t be turned away.” He walked over and held out his hand for Jaina’s inspection. “She was carrying this.”

Jaina’s blue eyes widened for a moment then she nodded. “By all means, see her in.”

“Thank you milady.” A soaked, bedraggled figure in plate armor and an oiled cloak appeared in the doorway. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” She, for the voice had been female, lowered her hood. “I’ll take that.” She plucked the object the guard held from his hand and slid it in her pocket.

Varian tensed. A blood elf. This one with poisonous, fel green eyes. Valeera’s hadn’t become that color, although they had shifted from their original hue as she consumed more magic. The newcomer rummaged through her bag as she walked closer. She threw her cloak over one shoulder and revealed a tabard with an odd crest. Anduin gasped.

“She’s a blood knight.”

The paladin grinned and winked. “Smart princeling. And this blood knight has a civil war to help quash so I have to make this quick. Aha!” She pulled out two envelopes, one much thicker than the other, and slid around Thrall. “Excuse me Warchief, I have something for young Hellscream.”

He scowled at it. “What - ?”

“It’s a letter from Izzy.”

The breath left his lungs in a whoosh but he tried not to get his hopes up. The knight could be speaking of anyone. There were many people with that nickname. Garrosh’s irritated expression melted away and the orc actually smiled as he accepted the missive. Thrall chuckled as she maneuvered her way out from the cramped space.

“I hope the priestess is well. I haven’t had the chance to speak with her since Garadar.”

Varian lowered his hands into his lap but he couldn’t hide his interest. A priestess narrowed things down. The odds grew more favorable that the paladin could know Isadora. A frown passed over the blonde elf’s face.

“She’s as well as can be, given what happened.”

The smile on Thrall’s face fell. “Has she been injured?”

Garrosh tore open the letter and skimmed it. “Imprisoned? By her own prince?” His head shot up and he rose. “Explain yourself, woman.”

“It’s not my story to tell,” she snapped. “Yes, she was held prisoner but she was also rescued. She’s been recovering in peace and quiet. If you want to ask her, write to her.” She flipped her hood up. “Apologies for my harshness. Lady Proudmoore, may I trouble you for something?”

“Yes?” Jaina asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

“Would you be able to use your magic to find a human named Lo’Gosh? He was a gladiator in the - ”

Rehgar choked and guffawed. Jaina shot Varian a curious look and the paladin followed her gaze. He met her wide eyes and rose to his feet. He wouldn’t deny his past. Not after forgetting it completely.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I think I hallucinated.”

“No, no you didn’t, elf.” Rehgar continued to snicker and gestured to Varian. “Meet Lo’Gosh the Ghost Wolf or as he’s more recently known, King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. What a lucky coincidence for you.”

He could have murdered the orc. All eyes turned towards him but he refused to be baited. The knight’s eyes roamed over him and she muttered to herself in Thalassian. Valeera covered her mouth and coughed but he knew her. She was hiding a laugh. He shot her a glare before a snort brought his attention back to the paladin. Her shoulders shook until she couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into laughter. His eye twitched. She slumped over against the wall, holding her stomach, and Valeera giggled. Varian clenched his jaw and snapped,

“What?”

“Sorry.” She struggled to control herself and straightened, wiping her streaming eyes with a handkerchief. “Apologies, Your Maj, I didn’t expect that and just pictured Izzy’s reaction.” She trailed off and snorted a few more laughs. “She has no fucking idea. No clue that you’re the Alliance king. She’s going to lose it when she finds out, after she’s gotten over the surprise of seeing you again.”

She continued to snicker to herself but managed to walk over to him and hand him the much thicker envelope. He hesitated but took it. That made a total of a dozen. A dozen letters from the priestess he knew for one night but had never left his thoughts. That’s when he recalled she hadn’t written for over a month. That must have been when she was captured. His hand clenched the parchment.

“Thank you,” he growled.

“Of course. A blessed evening to you all.” She bowed, raised her hood, which had come down during her laughing fit, and left.

Varian was at war with himself. He wanted to know what happened to her. The paladin knew her well if she was carrying those missives. If she had been captured, what had been done to her? He struggled between his two halves. Lo’Gosh the gladiator wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have damned the consequences and gone after the paladin. Varian the king cautioned against appearing weak and caring overly much about a woman. Any woman. He slid the letter into his belt pouch. Memories of Katrana and Tiffin continued to clash with memories of Isadora but nothing showed on his face.

A chair scraped as someone stood and he caught a flash of Anduin’s blonde hair following the knight outside.

“Anduin,” Varian warned and sighed when his son didn’t listen. He turned to the others. “Excuse me.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, he followed Anduin’s path to the entryway, where he’d managed to catch the paladin before she departed. They glanced up at his approach and Anduin ducked his head.

“We’ll talk later, imp,” Varian promised and stepped up to the other woman, casually shielding his boy behind him. “Thank you for bringing this. When you see her again, will you give her my apologies for my silence?”

“What makes you think I’ll see her again?”

He frowned but the woman just grinned at him. He fought the urge to sigh. “Will you tell her?”

Her expression sobered. “I’m not sure if I should, honestly. She’s been through a lot. Last I knew, she believes Lo’Gosh to either be dead or still trapped in the arena, the letters hidden from him or burned in front of his eyes.”

Varian managed to hold back a wince at the accuracy of that picture. The words were gentle, delivered without accusation, but still stung. If he hadn’t escaped and the letters came, Rehgar would have delighted in taunting him with them. The orc would have soured her memory instead of it remaining a comfort.

“Excuse me, miss?” Anduin asked.

“Just Desi, princeling.”

“Desi. Does your friend have a last name? So I can write to her?”

“Anduin,” Varian started.

“She must be important to my father. He kept all of her letters, even if he hasn’t opened them. Please,” Anduin insisted.

The paladin grinned. “Sad to say I can’t. You see, they had a deal. Your father has to find her again. Then she’ll tell him her full name.”

“She told you?” An odd flash of something caused his chest to tighten but Varian wouldn’t name it.

“We travelled together for almost a year. Met her shortly after she left the Orgrimmar arena.” She shifted her weight. “She talked about you often. Mostly about what she would do if she ever got strong enough to kick Rehgar’s ass and free you. Or if you were already free, she hoped you were happy.”

Such a simple wish but so profound. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had wished for his happiness. Tiffin had, when she was alive, but since then? He unconsciously pulled Anduin close and his son hugged him around the waist. Her eyes softened and she rummaged around in her pack.

“An inscriptionist always has her tools on hand.” She withdrew a polished wooden box, which held quills, ink, and parchment. “Write to her. I can wait.”

He thanked her quietly and took the box to a small end table that held a vase of flowers. After carefully shifting it aside, he spread out a piece of parchment but blanked on what to say. What could he say? How did he explain his silence without giving away who he was? He wanted to tell her in person when they met again and he learned her name. In a way, when they met again, they would reveal their true selves to each other.

“Who is Izzy?”

Varian’s fingers tightened on the pen. “She was the priestess who worked in the arena. I knew her for only a night…”

Anduin nodded thoughtfully and took another pen from the box. “You might not have come back if it weren’t for her.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell Anduin how right he was. He would have died in that infirmary if it weren’t for her. Broll and Valeera told him about it later, in one of their quieter moments, how she spent hours on him. Far longer than the old undead had been able to. How, according to them, she’d had to cleanse the poison, treat a punctured bowel, keep him from bleeding out, and stop his body from going septic. He blinked as Anduin started signing his name and put a hand on his shoulder.

“No names, son.”

Anduin frowned. “It seems wrong, keeping secrets from someone who thinks you’re a friend.”

“I know. I do not wish to lie, merely tell her the truth when I see her again. As you saw in the knight,” he said with a nod at the elf. “The news could come as a shock.” He wrote a few sentences above Anduin’s. Not enough, not nearly enough, but it would have to do. “I will find her again.”

They signed the missive, sealed it, and packed up the kit. Anduin carried it back to the paladin, who smiled and ruffled his hair. He laughed at the familiar gesture and ducked back to his side. She tucked their letter into her waterproof bag before her ear twitched and she turned towards the sky.

“What is it?” Anduin asked.

“I sense dark magic. I don’t wish to alarm anyone but I believe there may be something up there.”

“How can you be certain?” Varian joined her at the door and pushed Anduin behind him, his eyes on the clouds.

“Elves are naturally in tune with arcane magics. At least, those of us who used to be quel’dorei are. High elves,” she supplied for Anduin’s benefit. “It’s not demonic or arcane but something’s making those waves and considering the important people gathered here…an attack wouldn’t surprise me.” She shivered and pulled a palm-sized stone from a belt pouch. “I’m hearthing out. It was nice to meet you Your Maj, princeling, I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

She activated the hearthstone as Varian guided Anduin back inside. Thanks to the paladin’s warning, they were able to marshall a counter strike that took the wind out of the assassins’ sails and resulted in the capture of Garona, his father’s killer. Under questioning, she revealed her plan to kill him and orphan Anduin in the same vicious cycle. He saw red. He’d kill her first, before she could lay a hand on his precious boy. He’d rend her limb from him, watch her blood paint the sky, just as his father’s had. Only Jaina, as ruler of Theramore, stayed his hand. What did it matter if she was under a spell? She murdered his father, she would have gladly murdered him, she deserved to die.

Garrosh threw around wild accusations about betrayal, which Varian refuted and challenged back. Jaina refused to let him kill Garona. The orcs left with nothing resolved and Rehgar threw him one last, smug leer that threatened to ignite the bloodlust that still coursed in his veins.

The summit ended in disaster.

Varian swore he would never return to Theramore for another. No matter how much Jaina pleaded or how sweet her words, the betrayal cut too deep. In the end, it was just him and Anduin on a ship sailing home to Stormwind. Although he remained uneasy, memories of his previous journey and capture scarred deep, he was able to lay down his heavy armor and sink into a comfortable chair but kept Shalamayne close.

Though there was no hearth to provide warmth, mage lamps swayed from the rafters and cast the tiny room in a rich glow. The gentle rocking of the ship and the slap of the waves should have been soothing but Varian found himself straining to detect signs of trouble. The hiss of naga. The screech of metal on stone. He breathed in and out, hands digging into the armrests, but no peace came. Sweat beaded along his brow and he shivered as memories of the beach, that flash of light, and the  _ wrongness _ of being torn apart and then stuffed back into a body that should have been familiar but wasn’t. Like a shirt that no longer fit only far more uncomfortable because it was his soul that didn’t fit.

Wrong. All of it was wrong. He wasn’t a king, he was a gladiator. What did he know about ruling? No, he was king. He had a duty to the people waiting for him in Stormwind. He made a vow.

He had a son. Anduin needed him.

Did he? For a boy of 11 years, he was already so resilient and wise. Would it have been better if Varian never returned?

A soft knock came from his door.

His eyes flew open and he released a shuddering breath. “Yes?”

“Father? May I come in?”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat and rose to meet his son. “What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

Anduin shook his head. “I - I couldn’t sleep. I kept dreaming about Onyxia and then Garona. They killed you. Over and over.” His boy trembled, face pale in the ghostly light. “I needed to see that you were really here.”

His heart broke but he hesitated. He hadn’t been a father, not really. That part of his life still felt disconnected, distant from who he was. Anduin continued to look up at him, lost and afraid, but Varian still couldn’t figure out what to do. Until he thought of Isadora. What would she have done? With that thought to guide him, he leaned down and scooped his son into his arms. Anduin started at first but then wrapped his slim arms around his neck and clung to him. Varian rubbed his back in soothing circles.

“I’m here, son. I’m real. We found each other again.”

Although his boy should have been too big to hold, Anduin soaked up the comfort as his trembling stilled. Varian hadn’t realized how much he needed the closeness either until he had his son against his heart, reassured that he was safe. As he hugged his boy, his eye caught on the stack of letters on the nearby desk.

“How about a bedtime story?”

Anduin didn’t object. Varian easily shifted his weight as he carried him to the bunk, grabbing the oldest letter on the way. He carefully settled them in bed, kicking off his boots before taking off Anduin’s, and covered them both with a blanket. Again, he was reminded of Isadora. How she made sure he wasn’t cold or naked and vulnerable to observers. Varian held his son close and cuddled him as he had when he was a babe and Tiffin still graced their lives. No matter what happened outside, this moment was for them and them alone. They opened the letter together as Varian spoke.

“It’s about a priestess who saved the life of a king, though she believed him to be only a simple gladiator. They only knew each other for one night but the priestess didn’t forget him even after he was free.” He paused. “And he never forgot her.”

“What’re those?” Anduin pointed to a few stanzas near the end.

“They look like a poem or - song lyrics.” At Anduin’s questioning look, Varian swallowed. “She would hum or sing whenever she changed my bandages or checked on Valeera and Broll.”

“Would…would you sing it to me?” Anduin’s voice sounded so small, so young. “I remember mother would sing to me sometimes. Please?”

Varian hesitated. “I may not be very good.” But rather than see disappointment color those innocent blue eyes, he relented. “But I’ll try.” After he cleared his throat and hummed a few bars to try and remember the ephemeral tune, he began.

The song spoke of hope, determination, magic, and the strength of unselfish love. So much like Isadora. As he sang the soft ballad, he was transported back to the dim-lit room. If he concentrated, he could almost hear her voice and feel the warmth of her touch. After the song, he continued the story as he read her first letter. Slowly, the two drifted to sleep, the letter still in Varian’s hand. While he still had the journey ahead, home had never felt closer. He was almost there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be some of the softest stuff I've written and I'm not sorry that this chapter is so long XD The road to healing is long but our heroes will navigate it much smoother in the coming months. No big blow up between Garrosh and Varian (the chapter was getting long enough) but that just means it'll be better when it comes in Northrend.
> 
> Speaking of, just one more chapter and then this first book is wrapped up! As a heads up, I'm probably going to be taking a hiatus so I can hammer out the kinks of the next book. There's a lot I want to include and timelines to follow and I want to be sure everything lines up before I start writing.
> 
> Welcome to 2021 everyone and here's hoping it'll treat us better than 2020. See you next week!


	20. One More Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone says healers can't be fighters. Priestess Isoldera Ambershield disagrees. Four years after the destruction of Quel'thalas and loss of her family, she takes her first steps into Azeroth to become a battle healer and Champion of the Horde.

**Year 26 - Six Years After the Fall of Quel’thalas**

The temple had seen better days. Between the Scourge invasion and the passage of time, Eversong had nearly reclaimed the crumbling building. Green moss covered every inch of the walls. The gold paint and gilding had flaked off long ago, revealing weather beaten stone beneath. Half the roof was missing so who knew how much water damage and pests they’d have to clear out. Izzy took a delicate step over a fallen tree that blocked much of the doorway and looked around. A carpet of dead and fresh leaves covered the floor and crunched under her feet when she slid inside.

“What a dump,” Kav grouched as he examined the empty windows. “You really want to spend gold on this place?”

“You really want me to forgive you for being a controlling ass?” she countered. He shot her a withering look and she smirked at him before looking around. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be.”

“I still find it hard to believe that a loa showed you this place.” He looked around with a sigh. “But if it makes you happy, I’ll throw gold at this ruin. Don’t expect me to do any of the dirty work.”

“Deal.” She went over and hugged him. “Thank you.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, a note of uncertainty in his voice. “Am I forgiven?”

“Of course, idiot,” Izzy held on and rubbed his back comfortingly.

His shoulders slumped. He murmured something under his breath and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Since her return from Orgrimmar, she’d gone through all of the legal paperwork of settling her family’s estate, securing the temple as hers, and dividing her time between Quel’thalas and Lordaeron. Bureaucracy proved to be even more evil than paperwork as it was a week before Hallow’s End and she had only just received the final documents making her the landowner of the temple grounds and giving her permission to rebuild. The minute she finished the legal song and dance, she exchanged her robes for heavy work clothes, rounded up Kav and his people, and went out to see the site.

The Sun Temple (Izzy planned to rename it eventually) was about the size of a two story house. There was plenty of room for all of her plans: a room for healing, the main prayer room, private areas where people could talk about delicate matters, quarters above stairs for whomever volunteered to take care of the place in her absence, kitchen, bath, gardens, and library. In the main area, a statue stood in an alcove. Once they cleaned off the ivy and other debris, she’d finally get a good look at Belore’s likeness. Hopefully. She eyed the plant growth with a gimlet eye.

“Might have to look into an artist to do some restorations.”

“Perhaps save that until  _ after _ you’ve patched the roof, eradicated the mold, and who knows what else.”

She poked Kav in the ribs. “If you’re just going to bitch, then go the fuck away and let the adults work.”

“Gladly.” He grinned and released her after one last squeeze. “Zar? You coming?”

The mage shook his head as he carefully levitated the debris Kith, in his enormous bear form, dug up. More of Kav’s people roamed around assisting with the clean up and hauling but Izzy wanted to pitch in too. She put on her heavy gloves and shooed Kav away. With a pair of shears and several knives, she set to work on one wall of foliage. As they worked, they talked. Questions about where to put what were shouted over each other, with Izzy being the final say on anything. The morning passed with perfect weather, not too warm despite the steady sunlight that poured through the trees and dappled the forest floor. Zar grabbed her around midday after setting up compost for the gardens.

“What we doing for food?” he asked, gesturing to the crew.

“I made lunch for all of us but it’s back at Kav’s.” Izzy stripped off her gloves and took a drink of water. “I can head back but I’ll need - ”

“Special delivery,” a cheerful voice called. Desi rode up on her horse with Alesta driving a small cart filled with food and ale at her side.

“What the? How did you know?” Izzy fanned her face with her sun hat before plopping it back on her head.

“Boss figured you’d be hungry by now so I volunteered to deliver. I happened to run into your lovely friend and she offered to accompany me.” Alesta winked at Desi, who blushed.

“Just wanted to make sure she was safe is all,” she muttered and cleared her throat. “Need help? How many people you got here anyway?”

Izzy hid her embarrassed shrug as best she could as she accepted boxes wrapped in cloth that would double as blankets to set the food on and passed them out. “It was the first time in ages I’ve been in a proper kitchen and I wanted to do something special to say thank you. There’s no way I could do all this by myself.”

Zar patted her head absently as he took a particularly large box and ambled off. “We be happy to help.”

“He’s right.” Kith, back in his bull form, passed boxes to the peons, who cheered, before taking one for himself. “We would’ve been out here even if there wasn’t overtime or damn tasty food.”

Izzy blushed and hugged Kith around the waist as best she could. He rumbled a chuckle and palmed her ass in reply. She squeaked and smacked him. “How many times do I have to tell you? No more casual stuff for me.”

“More’s the pity, especially when you won’t even tell us who it is,” Kith lamented before lumbering off to find some shade.

“Don’t listen to him,” Alesta insisted and braced her hands on Desi’s shoulders as she was lifted down from the cart. “You have every right to your privacy.” A smirk crossed her face. “Although I admit I’m curious as to who’s won your heart.”

“Thanks, but I’m still not telling you. Aha!” Izzy pulled out the box wrapped in dark purple cloth embroidered with silver, grey, and twilight blue thread.

“Did you make that?” Desi asked and fingered the wrap. “It’s beautiful. The embroidery’s so intricate.”

“Thank you.” She hauled the box out and nodded to a tree nearby. “Let’s go find someplace to sit. I’m starving.”

They hauled their lunch over to a tree that dangled over the temple. A few fallen branches were probably responsible for the hole in the roof, so they sat on the other side just in case. Izzy spread out the blanket and passed around the food. Hard and soft rolls baked fresh that morning with different sauces, cheeses, meats, and vegetables. Hawkstrider eggs wrapped in ground pork and breadcrumbs. Fresh fruit salad drizzled with honey. And for dessert? Her special apple and caramel tarts with cinnamon and vanilla cream.

Desi groaned as she lay back against the tree trunk, one hand on her stomach and the other dangling at her side. “That was so fucking good.”

Alesta hummed in agreement and nibbled on a bit of mango. “You spoil us.”

Full and satisfied herself, Izzy wiped her fingers and sighed. A half hour and then she could get back up and keep working. She pulled a battered letter from her pocket and smiled as she opened it. Although she long memorized its contents, reading it reminded her that her patience and hope had been rewarded.

_ I am the son of Lo’Gosh. Words cannot express the depth of my gratitude for your aid in bringing my father home. With my mother’s passing, he is all I have left, so I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You will always have a friend in me. _

A son. Lo’Gosh found his son but had to remember his wife had passed. Izzy’s chest tightened as she traced the carefully-formed but slightly smudged words. She had spared at least one child the pain of losing their whole family. A family who seemed to love him dearly. Her eyes drifted up to the words inked in a much bolder hand but might have been a little nervous if the ink blot near the end was anything to go by.

_ I have found my name, my son, and my purpose. Until we meet again, I will continue to hold your memory and letters close for they have seen me through many a dark night.. - LG _

Just like him, short and to the point, but still enough to send a chill down her spine in anticipation. She didn’t begrudge him not writing sooner because it sounded as though he’d been on his own harrowing journey of freedom and self discovery. The comment about holding her memory close brought heat to her cheeks and she hugged the missive to her chest. When Desi first brought her the letter, she pelted the paladin with questions. Much to her frustration, the paladin stayed silent.

“Trust me. It’ll be worth the wait if you’re surprised,” Desi insisted from her spot by the tree, bringing Izzy back to the present.

“So you say, but I doubt it,” Izzy mumbled.

Alesta giggled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Lo’Gosh was the one you were sweet on.” Her voice softened. “It’s someone else though, isn’t it? From when you were younger?”

Izzy stiffened but didn’t refute it. Alesta had been her mind healer for two decades. She was the one Izzy ran to when she was first discovering her sexual fantasies and who she enjoyed them with so of course she’d remember Sylvanas. Tension built within her and she put away the letter before she tore it. Thankfully, Ali didn’t elaborate and Desi didn’t push, which made the knot in her chest loosen. More signs that she could trust them and that the poison she carried around after her release from Tempest Keep had been purged.

“How are things in the blood knight barracks?”

Desi groaned and they laughed. Since the ex-Prince Kael’thas and his armies were gone and the Burning Legion prevented from entering Azeroth once more, things had calmed but the sin’dorei were still trying to find their footing in their newest normal. The Black Temple had been thoroughly raided and Illidan Stormrage imprisoned along with his Illidari. A dying Naaru revitalized the Sunwell so many sin’dorei had attuned themselves to it once more. Alesta’s eyes remained mostly green but Desi’s blazed white gold.

After what happened with the Light, Izzy wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to attune herself to it. Crystals still worked fine.

Days grew colder and shorter but at such a slow pace in Quel’thalas most elves hardly noticed. It wasn’t until they stepped away from the eternal spring of their land that they realized the world kept spinning. Although the longer the days passed without her healing magic, the easier it became to live without it. Even if Izzy sometimes found herself reaching for it only to encounter empty darkness.

“Think you can stay and help with the clean up?” Izzy asked as they packed up a little later.

Desi shook her head. “Liadrin would throw fits if she caught me slacking.” Desi stole a few more tarts and wrapped them in her own handkerchief. “Lunch can be explained away though. Even a paladin’s gotta eat.”

Izzy laughed. “Fair. Ali?”

She shook her head. “I wish I could. The energy here is so peaceful but I have several appointments this afternoon. Maybe another day.”

“I see how it is. You show up for my cooking but leave before I can wrangle you into actual work,” Izzy teased.

“You caught us.” Desi stretched and went over for a hug. “I’m glad you’re doing better. If you need anything, write to me, okay? You’re still at Renee’s inn?” At Izzy’s nod, she squeezed her and stepped back. “Then that’s where I’ll send my letters. Shorel’aran.”

They all said their goodbyes with more hugs and promises to write or visit, Ali reminded her of her next session, and Izzy wished them both well as they gathered up the boxes and re-packed the wagon. Once the two were on their way back to Silvermoon, Izzy whipped everyone back into demolition. They got a good chunk of cleaning done and patching the holes to prevent more things from getting in but it was only day one. Izzy fanned her face again and smiled at their work with a nod.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.” She glanced up and frowned. “Hasn’t it been getting darker earlier?”

“Should be dark now,” Zar noted and also glanced up.

Kith chuckled. “An’she is pleased with your work so he gave you his blessing.” He gestured around the area. “A nicer day than normal, no accidents, and no complaints from the peons for once.”

She hummed in understanding. “Although I hope An’she isn’t offended when I speak of Belore.”

“I’m sure it isn’t the first time a deity has been called by multiple names.” Kith morphed into his travel form and trotted off to round up the peons.

Izzy smiled and sent up a prayer of thanks to Belore for watching over them and blessing their efforts. They still had a long way to go in terms of clean up but it was much better than before. She bowed to the central statue. Part of her afternoon work had been carefully untangling the goddess and revealing the larger than life figure beneath. She stood with a sword in one hand and an orb in the other, her expression stern but serene. According to legend, the sword represented the sun’s ability to scorch and destroy while the orb was for its life-giving light and healing. The artist had painted parts of the statue, mostly the hair and robes, but left the rest of the marble as natural as possible.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” she announced to the gathered workers. “Thanks everyone.”

They traded farewells and trekked back to the Silvermoon while Izzy diverted and took the orb back to Lordaeron. She had a few days in the fleshworkers’ chambers ahead before she could go back to the temple and looked forward to them. Learning how the fleshworkers healed their Forsaken peers fascinated her and Izzy had been determined to try since it took no magic whatsoever.

Of course when she arrived the next day, a soldier with a chunk of calf missing plopped down on her table.

“You sure that’s gonna work?” Mordicai peered at her work as she pinned the new muscles and sinew in place to sew it together.

“Pretty sure. Although if it doesn’t, I’ll help you beat up the quack who told me it would.”

He laughed and for the first time it didn’t send a chill down her spine. Some Forsaken had the ability to laugh in a menacing tone that brought up a person’s darkest nightmares. Most of them used it too. Izzy wasn’t made of such weak stuff though and trained herself to overcome the instinct to shiver. Mordecai watched closely as she sewed but her stitches were tiny and even. She doubled up on the thread for strength and used a special stitch to hide the seam lines. Unthinking, Izzy reached for her healing magic to coax the process along and chided herself for it. She could heal even if her magic was gone.

Something flickered.

Izzy froze mid-stitch.

“Something wrong?”

“No, I - I just need a moment.” She turned her concentration inward, searching for that bit of light she felt.

There. A small ember of magic stirred. Izzy sucked in a breath and could have cried for joy. Careful not to snuff it out, she nudged and built up the bit of magic to encourage it to grow. The smallest tendrils of magic stretched out from her fingers and wrapped around Mord’s leg. A small flash of gold light and it came together seamlessly. Izzy pulled the thread and it came away clean, as though there’d been nothing attached in the first place.

“Priestess?”

She blinked and cleared her throat. “Sorry, got distracted. That should be good but let’s try a gentle stretch first.” Izzy cradled his calf and felt along the leg as he flexed and rolled his ankle. “How’s that feel?”

“Not bad. Feels better than the last one I got to tell you the truth.” He grinned and stretched a bit harder. “Oh yeah, that’ll do. Nice work.”

“I aim to please.” She rose and began cleaning and putting away her tools. “No dancing or high kicks for at least a week but you should be able to resume normal patrols by tomorrow. Take it easy for the rest of the day so things can stick.”

He saluted her and left the tiny room with a slow but stable gait. Izzy stretched the kinks out of her back and flexed her wrists but waited until he was out of sight before she squealed under her breath and bounced in place. The goddess heard her. Izzy could have cried but work beckoned and she needed to remain focused.

It continued in that same vein until midwinter. As they restored the temple, Izzy’s magic grew, though she fought not to use it for fear of extinguishing the spark. After passing the shortest day and sitting through the longest night in meditation and prayer, Izzy walked from Fairbreeze to the temple. She held a single candle she shielded from the wind and wore a simple white shift despite the chill in the air. Beside and behind her, Lenora and Ali followed, dressed in gold, as future supplicants. A small group clustered near the entrance but made way for them as they approached.

Archie stood nearest the door, silent and watchful, along with Gunnar, whose eyes remained on Lenora. Other priests and bystanders, drawn by word of mouth, mingled and whispered. Desi shivered in her cape but she smiled encouragement as they went in. The restored statue of Belore gleamed with fresh paint even in the deep shadows of predawn. Izzy approached the altar and raised her light to the first taper candle to the statue’s right.

“On the cusp of the longest night, we call on she who walks in sunlight.”

The wick flared. Izzy’s breath caught and she moved to the second.

“With the turning of the wheel, her past visage away we seal.”

Power gathered as she approached the third taper in the circle. It crackled and popped over her arms, raising the hairs on her skin, and pricked her fingertips.

“Rise once more o Lady of Flame, so one and all may know your name.”

The pricks in her fingers grew as she approached the last light at the front of the statue, completing the circle. She gathered the delicate core of magic she nurtured until it glowed like a campfire in the dark and poured its power into the last candle.

“I call your name, Belore bright, to shine on us your blazing might!”

The four flames erupted into columns that swirled around the statue until it formed a tornado that spiralled up to the ceiling. The magic gathered into a ball of light with shimmering rays extending from all sides. It hovered for a moment before it floated down and rested on the back of the statue’s head like a crown.

The stone eyes opened. Miniature suns erupted in their sockets.

Izzy dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Muttered curses and gasps came before multiple soft thuds as people either fell to their knees or fainted. Izzy’s heart hammered in her chest. The heat in the temple built until she could have sworn she was in Orgrimmar on the hottest day of summer. Rocks rumbled as the statue lowered its chin.

“I have heard your prayers. Through your devotion, you have reignited the spark of my power and returned me to my place among my children of the sun.” Her voice echoed as if from deep within the cave but rasped in a way that brought to Izzy’s mind crackling fire and the scream of a phoenix.

More shifting of rocks followed before unnaturally smooth and too hot fingers pressed against her brow. Izzy gasped as the powers of the goddess flowed into her mind and opened her memories. Images of times recent and long gone flashed before her eyes, culminating with her last picnic with her friends outside the temple as they celebrated the completed restoration. She trembled as the power withdrew and awaited judgment.

“Your faith has been broken.”

Izzy nodded, unable to speak.

“Yet you seek to bind yourself to me.”

She forced her tongue to unstick from the roof of her mouth and raised her eyes. “I am willing to try. I have shown you good faith in restoring your temple and your name. You have shown good faith in restoring my power. I ask for your blessing to become your priestess.”

“Will you perform your duties even if it is not my will to heal but to destroy?”

The question hadn’t been in any of the reading she’d done. Izzy’s palms sweated and she rubbed them on her shift. Her fingers dug into the skin and fabric around her knees. She didn’t think. Instead she spoke directly from the heart.

“I shall, for death is a part of the cycle.”

“Will you speak with wisdom, knowing it is my voice that guides you?”

“I shall, until you declare my duty complete.”

“Will you perform my ritual of renewal every midwinter until a new high priestess is chosen?”

“I shall, for every year on the longest night and before the new dawn remakes the world, you will be honored..”

“And what words do you choose to bind yourself to your goddess?”

Izzy’s heart skipped a beat. “There are only two words that should bind anyone together: love and trust.”

A slight smile lifted the corners of the sculpted lips. “Then let our covenant be bound in love and trust and sealed in blood.”

She retrieved the ceremonial knife that lay on the altar and pricked her finger. She let a drop of blood fall into each candle flame as she completed the circle. When she returned to the front of the statue, the marble flesh glowed with health and life. Black hair shimmered with golden highlights from the crown and her molten eyes gleamed. Izzy’s breath caught at the mesmerizing sight. Belore touched her brow once more. Something heavy wrapped around her head as fire scorched her blood.

Someone screamed. It may have been her. The flames raked her with vicious, digging fingers, as if they intended to pry up everything that made her who she was so it could be burnt and reborn. As each part of her was consumed, magic flowed in like liquid magma. It gathered in her chest, formed a new core of power, and spread its tendrils in her blood and bone. Izzy’s chest heaved as she caught her breath and pressed a hand to her heart where she felt her new core pulse in tandem with it. When she focused, she saw its rays spreading through her like the sun emerging on a cloudy day.

Something slid down her brow and she felt around her head. A tiara with delicate gold chains and twisted gold wire rested on her head. In the center, a large citrine fashioned in the shape of a sun shimmered with inner fire. Her throat tightened and she replaced it, careful of her curls.

“Let it be known, Isoldera Ambershield is now High Priestess, Chosen of Belore, My Light on Azeroth, until the day I declare her duty complete and she passes beyond the Veil.” The statue straightened and boomed, “Thul’lo no Belore, sin’dorei.”

Streams of gold flowed into the orb and vanished. The sculpture returned to its unmoving pose and the molten eyes closed once more. Izzy whispered her thanks to the goddess and turned to face the much larger gathering of people. Front and center stood Lor’themar Theron, his face red with outrage, with Lady Liadrin at his side. Tears streamed down the matriarch’s cheeks and she pressed a hand to her heart in salute.

“What is the meaning of this?” Theron hissed.

“The sun goddess has been restored. We have forgotten her for too long in favor of the humans and their Light.” Izzy’s voice rang with authority and she resisted the urge to touch her throat in shock. Instead, she held her head high. “We were once quel’dorei. We worshipped the sun as a guiding light of knowledge and power. Though much of our culture has been lost, the goddess has never abandoned us. The sun rose the day after Arthas’ invasion and shall continue to do so no matter the storm.”

Lenora stood at her right side, a smirk on her face, and eyes brilliant gold as shadows twined and twisted around her feet. Such a thing wouldn’t have been tolerated in a church of Light but darkness was also a part of the cycle, the same as death. Ali stood to her left, hands folded demurely before her, and her eyes blazed gold as the sun. Izzy’s chest tightened and a lump formed in her throat at their encouraging nods.

“Belore welcomes all who would honor her to her temple. For those who do not wish to follow her, she blesses you with a bright future. All those who come in search of knowledge, healing, comfort, or sanctuary, you will be welcomed with open arms for Belore will always be a light in the darkness.”

She stepped down from the altar to meet Theron as he stormed up to her. Ali reached for her sash where she hid at least one weapon but Izzy held up her hand to stop her. The pompous windbag didn’t intimidate her and after everything he hadn’t done, she didn’t respect him either.

“I will not tolerate this - this cult - in my city.”

“Belore’s Path is a legitimate part of our culture and history. Although someone went to great care to eliminate the goddess in favor of the Light,” she jabbed and gave him a dark look. “She won’t be pushed aside again and you are trespassing.”

His mouth opened to protest then shut with a snap. She smirked. That was one of the reasons she ensured the land and the building were in her name. She expected backlash from those in power and comfortable with it. Theron was merely the first. He turned sharply on his heel and stormed off as Izzy waved her fingers after him. Lady Liadrin glanced back at her before shaking her head and following.

“Now that the show’s over,” she said and clapped her hands. “Who’s hungry?”

They feasted and talked as the hours passed. Eventually, she escorted the last of the visitors out and closed the door with a sigh. Exhaustion pulled at her and she really wanted a nap but there was one more thing she wanted to do. She went to the statue and knelt before it. The orb glowed, as did the gem on the tiara Belore gifted her with. A voice whispered,

“Yes, my priestess?”

She took a breath. “There is a woman I love with all my heart. She and her people were rejected by the Light and are still reviled by most of the living. They are a part of this world too. I want to be able to touch and heal them without harm.”

Silence followed. “The undead are no longer part of the cycle. New life cannot grow from undeath.”

“But it can grow from the remains of the dead. Mushrooms, moss, so many things can grow in what is rotting away. Their bodies no longer change but their souls still can, which means they still need caring for.”

More silence. The tiara weighed heavier on her head. It was selfish but she didn’t care. She wanted to be able to embrace Vana, and more, without fear. Her cheeks flushed. If she had to stretch her logic a bit then so be it. Finally, a soft chuckle caressed her ears and Izzy’s heart soared.

“Very well, clever priestess. Place your hand on the orb.”

Izzy laid her palm over the stone and gasped as something held her fast. Fire burned up her arm and spread through her chest and although she thrashed, she couldn’t escape. It vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Izzy unharmed but vibrating with the new magic. A gift from the goddess. She shivered and pulled her hand back. The skin was flushed but unburnt and she sighed in relief.

“Thank you. From the depths of my soul, thank you.”

She needed to see Vana. Izzy closed up the temple, waved to the guards stationed at the front entrance, and summoned Sethy. A quick change of clothes and then, Lordaeron.

* * *

Sylvanas stared into the fire, arms folded behind her back. Though on the outside she remained calm and poised, her hands curled into fists beneath her cloak. Another necropolis had appeared but over Orgrimmar. Fitting, considering her forces had resoundly beaten the Scourge presence from the Plaguelands. The missive from Thrall declared war against the Lich King and ordered her to establish a forward base in the Howling Fjord. While she bristled at being ordered around by anyone, least of all an  _ orc _ , it suited her plans. She would allow it for the moment if it meant reaching  _ him. _

Icecrown. Where that bastard Arthas sat in his fortress of ice and saronite. She waited so long for the chance to hunt that whelp down and the time had finally come to stalk her prey to its den.

“Where shall we begin, Dark Lady?” Nathanos asked.

“Start work on a new zeppelin and docking tower. I don’t care what it takes, I want both operational before the first thaw.” She went down her mental list. “Send word to adventurers in the field and summon as many as possible back to Lordaeron. I need a roster of all the troops in fighting shape.”

As she spoke, Nathanos assigned various Dark Rangers to the more menial tasks, such as taking the roster and making inventories. When the topic of healers and supplies came up, her thoughts immediately turned to Isoldera. Her little light had followed through on her word once again. In the months since their talk, she sought out the fleshworkers, offered counsel with the other priests, and even devised a tea recipe that spread like wildfire among her people. Pride and smugness brought a small smirk to her lips at the priestess’s actions. However, Isoldera lacked one thing that made Sylvanas hesitate to bring her to Northrend.

Her magic.

Without it, Isoldera would have to rely on only her fighting skills. They were impressive for a priestess but weren’t on the same level as someone who had years of combat training. Her latest letter spoke of a plea to a long forgotten goddess but Sylvanas scoffed at it. While it might have been necessary for a priest to beseech their magic from a higher power, the idea of putting her faith in a fickle being she may never see or interact with soured her stomach. She would rather put her trust in things proven to be reliable: her skills with bow and sword, her mind, Nathanos, and, more recently, Isoldera.

“My queen?” Anya’s voice pulled her from her reverie. “Priestess Ambershield seeks an audience.”

“Bring her.” As soon as the Dark Ranger left, she cast a gimlet eye at Nathanos. “Ensure that we are not disturbed unless the Alliance attacks or the Apothecarium threatens to destroy the city again.”

He gave her a sweeping, mocking bow. “As my queen wishes.”

She sneered at him without heat and pointed to the door. He shambled out and a few moments later, a knock came. Sylvanas raised her hands to check her hair before she froze and chided herself for such a sentiment. After bidding them to enter, Anya opened the door and admitted Isoldera.

Her eyes gleamed gold.

Sylvanas stiffened. Had she attuned herself to the Light through the Sunwell? The sharp slice of betrayal stunned and shocked her but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Isoldera was still among the living. It was only a matter of time before her little light showed her true colors. Her fingers curled into fists. Isoldera’s smile dimmed slightly at the lack of welcome and she hesitated near her desk.

“Vana? What’s wrong?”

“Did you take the Light back? Does it consume you once more?” she demanded. “Did you choose - ?”  _ Power over me. _ The thought went unsaid only because she refused to reveal such weakness.

“No! No, of course not. Like fuck I’d let that bitch in again. It’s Belore.” Her smile returned. “The ritual this morning was a success. Belore named me her high priestess and restored my powers.”

Relief flooded her and Sylvanas closed her eyes as the tension drained from her. How many times would she experience that sudden doubt and terror in Isoldera’s presence? Just the hint of betrayal was enough to cut through all of her defenses and threaten to tear her soul from her body again. Perhaps Nathanos was right. Perhaps she risked too much by pursuing Isoldera again. But she was selfish enough to admit, if only to herself, that she wanted her little light by her side to drive away the bleakness of her existence.

Arms wrapped around her torso and a warmth she hadn’t felt in years seeped into her body.

Warmth?

Sylvanas’ eyes flew open. Isoldera held her close, head on her shoulder, and radiated the heat of a summer day.

It slowly spread through her, strongest where Isoldera’s chest pressed against hers, and eased the cold that was her constant state since being raised. More shocking was how  _ good _ it felt. Comforting, like home. If she closed her eyes, it was easy to see them back in Eversong Woods, tangled in each other’s arms as they bathed in the sunlight. Sometimes they made love. Other times they cuddled and traded sweet kisses and playful touches. Her numb senses tingled, a limb slowly waking up.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered.

“I’m holding you.” Isoldera murmured against her neck. “It was part of Belore’s gift to me: the ability to touch and heal the Forsaken without hurting them. I argued that you and your people still deserved care.”

“That doesn’t explain why I can...feel.” Sylvanas touched her shoulder. Isoldera’s skin radiated that feverish heat through the fabric and it sank into her palm.

Isoldera mulled that over and hummed softly. “I think, but I’m not sure, that it has to do with Belore’s magic. She’s a nature deity, being a sun goddess, and life and death are two sides of the same coin. You can’t have one without the other.”

While it made logical sense, Sylvanas couldn’t help but question her good fortune. If Isoldera not only had her powers back, but the deity who granted them was more open to the Forsaken, she could start shifting her people away from the Light. She’d have to investigate further first. Perhaps summon Bancroft. Isoldera mentioned in her letters that she asked him to witness the ritual. Experiments needed to be conducted to test the limits of her little light’s power. If it could heal the undead, what could it do to the Scourge if it was turned towards destruction? The possibilities spiralled before her. This new magic could be the thing that tipped the board in her favor against Arthas.

All because of Isoldera.

“Vana? Sylvanas?” Foreign but familiar eyes swam in her vision as she returned to the present. “Are you alright? Oh blessed Belore, what did I do? Fuck, Nathanos is going to kill me if I - ”

She snarled and squeezed the priestess tighter. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his arrows to himself.”

The enormity of what Isoldera had done started to sink in and Sylvanas’ arms trembled. What had she done to deserve such a woman? Sometimes it still felt wrong. Like a sweet, insidious nightmare Arthas delighted in torturing her with. Yet the proof stood in her arms, warm and soft and alive, while he remained locked in ice far away. Sylvanas stripped off her gloves. She needed this. Needed to feel the warmth of life that came from Isoldera to remind herself that perverted as her existence was, she still lived. She could still claim her vengeance  _ and _ the woman before her.

Sylvanas tugged her to the chair behind the desk and fell back into it, pulling her little light onto her lap. Isoldera yelped and stumbled but found her balance quickly. Using her boot knife, she sliced the ties that held the priestess’s robe closed and pushed it off her shoulders. Much to her delight, Isoldera’s shirt had no sleeves, and she wasted no time in touching her. She ghosted her hands up and down the flushed, smooth skin. If she concentrated, she swore she felt the fine hairs tickle her palms. With easy motions, she arranged Isoldera to sit sideways on her lap and pulled her close so she could press her cheek to the priestess’ beating heart where the heat was strongest. She sighed and laced their fingers together.

“You’re so  _ warm _ . I never dreamed I would feel this again.”

Isoldera freed one of her hands but before Sylvanas could protest, wrapped it around her and massaged her back. “I’m glad I could give this to you.” She pressed a kiss to her head. “Happy Winter’s Veil, Vana.”

It was nothing so trivial as that. “You’ve given me so much. You held out your hand to me, the only living soul who has since I was turned, and became my light in this black, endless undeath.” Her voice shook. “Why?”

“I love you.”

A frisson of tension shot through her. “Is that truly the answer?”

A gentle touch to the back of her head made her look up into Isoldera’s shining eyes and breathtaking smile. “It’s the only answer that matters.”

The gentle response and the tender kiss shattered her. Sylvanas clung to her little light as Isoldera broke the kiss to lower her hood and stroke her hair. More soft kisses were peppered over her face and hair as Isoldera cradled her close and hummed a low, slow melody. One she recognized as a song her little light often sang to her in their softest moments. A tremulous sound suspiciously like a sob escaped her but Sylvanas couldn’t stop it if she tried. Although her body could no longer cry, she still carried the echo of feeling. The lump in her throat. The burning in her eyes. The rising heat in her face. The open, unfettered vulnerability. It was too much. It was all too much.

Isoldera loved her.

She tensed as she realized she should say something in return. “I - I don’t know if - if I can…” Sylvanas cursed herself for how weak and pathetic she sounded but Isoldera merely kissed her head.

“It’s alright. You can go at your own pace. It’ll give me something to look forward to besides your charming company.”

The tease broke the tension and Sylvanas snorted under her breath. “You’ll have plenty of chances to partake of my ‘charming’ company as you call it.” She gestured to the open missive on her desk. “The Warchief has declared war. He wants us to march before the first thaw and has declared I am to establish a base in the Howling Fjord.”

Isoldera didn’t even glance at the missive, all her focus on them, which pleased Sylvanas more than she was willing to admit. “So we’re going after that rat bastard at last. It’s about fucking time Thrall got his act together.”

That startled a cackle from her and she kissed her little light for it. She also hadn’t missed how Isoldera said “we.” “Awfully bold of you to assume you will be going with me.”

“As if you could keep me away.”

That was one challenge she happily wouldn’t take. Sylvanas let herself relax in Isoldera’s embrace as they discussed plans for the expedition north until the time came when she had to let her go. Not for the first time she cursed herself for wanting to take things slow and give her people time to accept the priestess. But she couldn’t let herself get carried away. If Arthas even suspected of her having such a weakness as a lover, he would unleash hell itself on her little light. Her vision turned red. Let him try. She would finish what she started years ago and drive her arrow through his heart.

* * *

**Year 27**

The expedition left the second month of the new year.

Izzy spent the time between Winter’s Veil and then preparing for the long campaign. Since taking on Belore’s power, she became intolerant to the cold. Northrend wasn’t exactly known for its warm climates, which called for an entire new set of armor. She arranged for someone to care for the temple in her absence and Alesta volunteered to lead services every week. She sent letters and said goodbyes to everyone she wouldn’t see for a while and threw herself into assisting the effort.

A new group had been formed by Sylvanas called the Hand of Vengeance, which would lead the initial strike against the Lich King’s forces. The Dark Lady left Lordaeron in the hands of Varimathras while she took command of her troops, which did a lot to boost morale among the Forsaken. She also had new armor commissioned for the occasion and wore a new, sturdier battle cloak made by Izzy. Sylvanas made a striking figure next to the captain’s wheel, her cape billowing in the breeze, her bow on her back, and strands of blonde hair fluttering around her face. It was all Izzy could do not to stare. Or drool.

“The Cloudkisser’s taking off. Next stop, Northrend!”

Sylvanas waited years for this day.

With Nathanos at her right and a contingent of her elite rangers onboard along with the rest of the troops and adventurers making up the Hand of Vengeance, she felt invincible. Everything was falling into place. She tracked Isoldera as she strayed close to the edge of the ship. While not the only priest aboard, she drew the eye more than most with her goddess’ blessing upon her. She carried a new mace but no hint of the new dagger set showed against her clothes and Sylvanas smirked in pride.

Her little light would prove formidable indeed.

As the zeppelin soared over the sea, someone called, “Alliance ship off the port bow! Orders captain?”

“Leave them,” Sylvanas snapped, eyes on the horizon. “They are not our concern. Push forward!”

Isoldera crossed the deck to the other side and looked down, flinching as the wind knocked her hood back. Sylvanas didn’t take her eyes off the horizon. Let the Alliance come. She would crush them beneath her boot if they tried to steal her rightful kill. The only human who could possibly stake an equal claim - Sylvanas pushed that thought away. Proudmoore wasn’t her concern any longer. Only victory.

Far below, Varian Wrynn focused the scope pressed to his eye at a single point on the Horde zeppelin.

A familiar figure dressed not in white but in amethyst and gold stood near the railing. Her wild mane of curls was shorter, her eyes were gold instead of green, and she had put on more muscle but it was her. Isadora. His hands clenched around the bronze tube as he lowered it, all of his focus on the ship that rose and vanished into the clouds.

“Your orders, sire?”

“Press on. Leave the Horde for another day.” He tucked the tool into his belt and kept his eyes on the horizon.

No matter the distraction, he would not forget his mission. Azeroth would never again suffer the wrath of the Lich King.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote for this book, folks. Wow. Still can't believe I was able to write "the end" for this story. Thank you everyone who's commented, left kudos, and dropped by every week to share this story with me. But don't worry, Izzy's journey isn't over yet. I plan on taking a bit of a break to start work on the Northrend arc but I should be back by March. In the meantime, I'll still post updates and snippets on my tumblr and twitter, so feel free to stop by.
> 
> Again: thank you everyone, the response to this fic has been more than I could've imagined, and I hope you'll return for the next part of Izzy's adventures in Azeroth. Until then, take care!


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